


The First Immortal

by GoughSmoughCoughDoughBough



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), RWBY
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-10-14 11:16:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 115,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10535355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoughSmoughCoughDoughBough/pseuds/GoughSmoughCoughDoughBough
Summary: Artorias Nym of Team Gwyn is a third year student at Shade Academy. Life's had its ups and downs, sure - but he's on track for a good career as a Huntsman. But when the secrets of Remnant begin to surface at the 40th Vytal Festival, he gets dragged down with them.





	1. Prologue

A faunus leaned against the wall of a coffee shop. Two wolfish ears stuck out from the young man's silver hair. He attracted one or two glances – whether because of his faunus heritage or because he was a huntsman, he wasn't sure. Or a huntsman-in-training, rather. Could civilians even tell the difference?

Absentmindedly, he touched the hilt of his greatsword, sheathed on his back, and the handle of his dagger. Yet another habit his leader had drilled into him. Always know where your weapons are.

He was joined soon by a shorter, older woman, with dark hair. Her name was Morgan Nym, his mother, but the only resemblance between the two was their blue eyes. A fresh cup of coffee was in her hands.

"You sure you don't want a cup?" she asked.

Artorias Nym shrugged, kicking off the wall, and they set off, walking aimlessly down the road. "Gil'd have my head for drinking coffee so late."

Or at all, really, although the occasional cup wouldn't hurt. Coffee, Gilderoy had told them, was a crutch. A reliance on it could get you killed. What if you were ambushed in your sleep, and had no time for a cup to wake you up?

_Whatever, man,_ he'd said. But it had been easy enough to give it up, just to keep Gil happy, so he'd abided by the rule and had barely touched coffee ever since.

Morgan smiled and shrugged. "It's decaf, Arty, don't worry. It won't keep me up."

"That could be an issue," Artorias smiled. "We have a lot to catch up on."

"And half a year to talk about it."

"I'll be at Beacon for most of that, but yeah, fair call," he said. "I'm sorry I haven't really kept in touch."

She waved it off. "It's not a problem. As long as I knew you were alive and well, that was enough for me." She lifted the paper cup to her lips and drank. "But I'll certainly get as much as I can from you tonight. How about your team?"

"I'm partnered with our leader, Gilderoy Ornstein. He's strict, and very militant, and he's lived all his life in Vacuo – I know, doesn't make sense, right? It's a surprise no one's broken a bottle on his skull yet. Gods know I've wanted to, once or twice."

"Any redeeming qualities?" she laughed.

"Eh…" Artorias trailed off, thinking hard. "He's better than his boyfriend? That guy was a real asshole, tried to bully me for these a few times." He gestured to his wolf ears. _Do I really have nothing good to say about my own partner?_

_I guess he doesn't want to see me dead. Does that even count, though?_

"I'm sorry," Morgan said.

"Don't be," Artorias snorted. "That one's all on father. And Smough was…" Well, he wasn't bad at bullying, that was for sure. But he'd done a pretty poor job of it in Artorias' case. "He was manageable."

She smiled and took another sip from her cup. "I suppose you're right."

"Ciaran's a little different. She's quiet, unless she's in class – she's all studious and stuff, so she asks questions all the time. But if she's angry, she gets really loud, actually. I seem to be really good at making her angry," he laughed. "Don't get me wrong, though. It means a lot that she cares enough to get upset with me."

"That doesn't sound too healthy," she mused. "I know it's not really my place." She scrambled to apologise, her eyes growing wide.

Artorias shook his head. "No, no, you more than deserve to voice your opinion. You're my mother."

"I wasn't a very good parent."

He shrugged. "I turned out alright." _And seriously, remember father? That was a real mess._ "Look, like you said, I just got back, I'm in town all semester. You've got plenty of time to mope later, if you have to."

She frowned, but nodded. "And your last teammate?"

"Ah, Gough." A broad grin spread across his face. "He's everyone's best friend. Always the mediator – I suppose it hurts him more than anyone else when the rest of us fight, but it never shows. Like, first day at Shade? Ciaran and I got in an argument, before any of us knew each other – something petty about whose weapons were cooler, but man, it got heated. Then Gough came along, gave us a real stern talking to – I thought he was a teacher, actually, he's all tall and mature and all that – where was I? Right, he talked us both down, then he gave us a real big hug. Ended up with C sitting on his shoulders all through orientation." That was a fond memory.

A wistful smile crossed his mother's face. "It's certainly a lovely story."

The sound of an explosion reached the two, and Artorias reflexively reached for his sword. "You hear that?"

She nodded. "What do you think's going on?"

Artorias spun, spotting a plume of smoke reaching into the sky.

"I mean, it's not like I've got any details or anything, but my money's on trouble. Sorry, Mum – I love you, I'll talk to you soon, duty calls."

She nodded in understanding. He gave a thumbs up and sprinted off into the night. He barely heard his mother's response.

"Be safe."

/-/

Artorias reached the docks just in time to see the criminal – or, at least, he assumed it was the criminal – fire off a round from his cane at the girl in the red hood. A monkey faunus lay at the crook's feet, and, peering closer, Artorias recognised him – it was Sun Wukong. He'd not seen the kid since he'd left for Haven.

_Well, try not to die, man._

A few Bullheads came swooping in, and one lifted off, a cargo container of dust attached to its underside, but Artorias' eyes were glued to the man in the coat, walking away at a pace only just short of frantic. _There's always an escape vehicle_. He leapt atop a cargo container, and from there to a warehouse roof, for a better view – ah, there, a grounded Bullhead.

He ran to it, weaving between a few cargo containers to avoid the criminal's view. He ducked down and grabbed the mask of an unconscious White Fang mook as he went, slipping it on. The wolf faunus reached the bullhead before his target, and entered, nodding to the two White Fang grunts already there. Apparently they either didn't notice, or perhaps didn't care that, aside from the mask, he was dressed nothing like them.

_Idiots._

Outside, two of the other Bullheads were torn apart by green laser beams. _The hell?_

"These kids just keep getting weirder," the man in the coat muttered, finally reaching the vehicle. He pulled the door closed with the crook of his cane, then turned to face Artorias and the two members of the White Fang at his side.

He rolled his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, then glared furiously at the two faunus at Artorias' side. "So, did either of you happen to notice that this one isn't with us?"

They glanced at each other.

"Blue cloak isn't exactly regulation uniform. Seriously? Nothing? I'm better off with Hei's men."

Artorias slammed his fists into the two grunts' faces. They hit the floor with a satisfying thud, knocked out cold. He intercepted the man's cane with the back of his gauntleted left hand, drawing his greatsword with his right.

"Sorry, I kinda missed the memo," he grinned. "All of them, actually. Am I supposed to know who you are?"

"And there I was, thinking I had such a _fantastic_ reputation," the criminal growled. In the confined space of the Bullhead, Artorias' larger weapon was less effective than his opponent's nimble cane, but he kept pace well enough.

"You certainly keep a good image," Artorias complimented, knocking the cane away to open the criminal's guard.

" _Thank_ you." He swayed to the side, narrowly avoiding Artorias' strike. He followed up by slamming his cane into the wolf faunus' side. Artorias grunted in pain.

"Jerry, you wouldn't mind opening the side door, would you? _Trying_ to get rid of a guest back here," he called into the cockpit. Artorias used the distraction push through the man's defences again to slash across his chest. His aura flared to protect him, and he growled, returning his focus to Artorias.

"My name's Perry!" the pilot called, but the door swung open nevertheless.

The criminal feinted left, then swung low, hooking Artorias' right ankle with the crook of his cane and tripping him up. The wolf went with the flow, his right shoulder hitting the ground first. He let momentum roll him to his feet quickly, but his opponent capitalised on the advantage with a swift kick to the chest, sending him tumbling out of the Bullhead.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Wolf!"

_Bastard._

Artorias let out a pained gasp when he hit the ground, the borrowed White Fang mask shattering on impact. He lay there for a minute, perhaps two, before he started clambering to his feet. His head hurt from where it had struck the hard concrete – nothing aura wouldn't fix, but for now, he'd have to live with it.

"Hey, you alri- oh hey Art! How've you been, man?" Sun rushed over, laying a supportive hand on his shoulder.

Artorias sighed, rubbing the back of his pained head. "I've been better."

"Yeah. Looked a bit rough. Dude, I had no idea you were here! Come on, the others are over by the warehouses."

"The others?"

"Yeah, they're cool. I mean, I only really know one of them, Blake – you probably saw her, actually, when'd you show up, by the way? Anyway, she's really cool, and she's a faunus, but that's a secret though, and not one of those 'I'm gonna tell Gough because I tell Gough everything' secrets. Be cool about it?"

"I got it. I arrived at about the time Red got blown up."

"Oh, her name's Ruby. She's a bit of a weapons nut, and she likes my gunchucks, and she probably saved my life, so, you know, she's alright."

"Sun, everyone likes your gunchucks."

"Oh yeah."

They rounded a corner. Ruby and a ginger girl were sitting together atop some wooden crates. A girl with black hair and a bow – Blake, Artorias assumed – sat across from them. A few police had arrived on the scene already.

"The last one's kinda weird, but you see that thing she did to the Bullheads?"

"With the laser beams? That was her?"

"Yeah, so she's kind of a total badass. Socially awkward, not in the quiet way like C is, though. She's really… intense."

"Got it."

They approached the girls, and Sun introduced him. "Hey everyone, the guy that Torchwick kicked outta the ship's here!"

"The name's Artorias, the Wolf Knight," he waved.

"Dude. Not cool," Sun punched him lightly. "Nobody calls you that."

"Actually-"

"Not. Cool." Sun emphasised.

"Salutations, Artorias the Wolf Knight!" The ginger girl shot to her feet and waved, a bright smile on her face. Artorias gave Sun a satisfied smirk. "My name is Penny! It's a pleasure to meet you."

"I see what you mean," Artorias whispered.

Penny peered closer at him. "Are you and Sun having a _friends'_ moment _?_ " she asked.

He shared a confused glance with Sun. "Uh, yeah, I guess so?"

"That sounds wonderful! Can I be your friend too?"

Behind her, he saw Blake shaking her head so vigorously he was worried she might snap her neck.

"…sure?"

"Oh, sensational! Two more friends! It would seem that I am on a roll today!"

"How did you know to be here?" Blake asked.

"There was an explosion. Figured it'd be something important."

"That's how me and Penny got here too!" Ruby cheered. "I'm Ruby. And that's Blake."

"Hey," said Blake.

"Dude, what're you doing in Vale? You here for the tournament?" Sun asked.

"Yeah. The rest of the team went straight up to Beacon – you know how Gil is – but I came into town to visit Mum."

"Oh, you're one of the exchange students?" Ruby asked. "What weapons you got?"

"Eh, big sword, small dagger, nothing special." He didn't mention his gauntlet – best to keep some things up his sleeve. "Why?"

"I like weapons," Ruby said simply. "And Weiss, my partner, she wanted to spy on the competition – don't tell her I said that – so, you know, I thought I might help her with that."

"Weiss? As in Schnee?"

"…yeah. How'd you know?"

He shrugged. "Speak of the devil…"

Ruby looked over her shoulder – two girls he'd never seen before were walking towards them. One was a blonde he didn't recognise. The other was clearly Weiss Schnee. The hair gave it away. That and the haughty demeanour.

Ruby jumped to her feet. "Look Weiss it's not what you think she explained the whole thing you see she doesn't actually wear a bow she has kitty ears and they're actually kinda cute…" she trailed off as Weiss ignored her, marching right up to Blake.

"Weiss, I want you to know that I'm no longer associated with the White Fang." _Oh. That's interesting._ Artorias wasn't a big fan of the Fang. They gave the rest of the faunus a bad name, after all - and that wasn't even his own personal experience with them.

But if she'd left them, Blake couldn't be that bad. And Sun had vouched for her.

"Back when I was with them-"

"Stop. Do you have any idea how long we've been searching for you?"

Blake's eyes widened.

"Twelve hours. That means I've had twelve hours to think about this. And in that twelve hours, I've decided I don't care."

"You don't care?"

"You said you're not one of them anymore, right?"

"No, I haven't been since-"

"Ah-ah-ah! I don't want to hear it. All I want to know is that the next time something this big comes up, you'll come to your teammates, and not some – someone else."

Blake paused, and a relieved sigh escaped her. "Of course."

There was an awkward pause. Then Ruby broke the silence. "Yeah! Team Ruby is back together!"

Weiss turned to Sun. "I'm still not quite sure how I feel about you."

"What'd you do?" Artorias whispered.

"I'm a rapscallion, apparently," he muttered.

"And… I don't even know who you are," she said to Artorias.

"I'm Artorias, the Wolf Knight," he grinned, ignoring Sun's eye-roll.

"Do people actually call you that?" The blonde girl snorted.

"It worked with Penny."

"Well, I'm Yang, the Beautiful Blonde Brawler," she drawled, then she glanced around curiously. "Uh, was Penny here or something?"

Ruby gestured to her side. "Yeah she was just – hey, where'd she go?"

/-/

_June_

_Team: _ _ _ __

_MSG: PLEASE OBSERVE GWIN. G – MANTLE? N – CONTINGENCY?_

Professor Ozpin hummed in thought. He'd received the message not long after the Vacuo students had arrived. Of course, with the semester coming to a close soon, it would be hard to watch over them, but once class resumed...

Well. He'd be able to observe the Team, as requested, and provide June with a proper evaluation.

An alert came up on his scroll for another message.

_Qrow_

_Team: _ _ _ __

_MSG: QUEEN HAS PAWNS_


	2. Iris Brothers

Gilderoy Ornstein could go without his pauldrons perfectly fine. And the tassets, too – he was perfectly comfortable leaving them behind.

But, he thought, taking a seat on the Bullhead, he felt practically naked in a casual shirt, without his usual dust-embroidered coat. Which was ironic, because he never wore a shirt under his coat.

"…so waddaya think of Port?"

Gilderoy sighed and turned to look at the wolf faunus. Artorias slouched against the wall of the Bullhead, his posture probably purposefully horrendous just to annoy him.

They'd endured a week of classes at Beacon before the break. Gilderoy never thought he'd describe himself as having to _endure_ a class. He was studious, attentive – the best of the best. He did everything he could not just to learn from his teachers at Shade, but to enjoy their lessons.

But he couldn't do that for Port's class.

"He's an experienced huntsman," said Gilderoy. Artorias cackled.

"That's Gil-speak for 'I have nothing good to say about him but he's probably got something going for him'."

"It's what I say about you, when people ask."

"Ouch," Artorias said, grinning. "Ciaran seems quite enamoured with Portside." That was true – and incredibly confusing. Sure, Ciaran, like himself, was a good student, but come _on_.

He couldn't understand how _anyone_ could tolerate Port's lectures, let alone enjoy them.

"Jealous?" he mocked.

"Nah," Artorias shrugged. "Two years ago? Sure. Not anymore."

"Before Quelana?"

"Before Winter gave me a verbal kick in the ass, but sure, close enough."

"I don't want to know," Gilderoy winked, twisting Artorias' words.

"Well, I didn't _think_ you had a thing for lectures, but sure, whatever floats your boat – any _port_ in a storm, right?" The wolf had the audacity to wink right back, the insufferable bastard, and despite himself, Gilderoy felt his cheeks turning as red as his hair. _Well, that backfired._ "Don't worry, I won't tell the good professor."

Even thinking of the rotund huntsman forced Gilderoy to supress a shudder.

"But even if I did, I wouldn't be too worried. He seems like a good _sport_."

"Artorias, stop."

"You're no fun today." Gilderoy decided not to point out that he'd never appreciated the wolf's puns. "Chin up. Smough's waiting for you at the air _port_."

Gilderoy ignored the joke. "Didn't think you'd support even the slightest interaction with Smough."

"That's more like it!" He raised a hand. "Don't leave me hanging, man."

It took Gilderoy a moment to think back on his words. He shook his head.

Artorias dropped his hand to his side with a pout. "Seriously, though. I thought you'd be in a good mood. Just say the word and I'll beat him up again."

"You just want an excuse."

"True," he shrugged. "C'mon. Talk to me."

"There's nothing-"

"I know when you're lying. You could just be honest and say you don't want to talk about it, you know. Makes things easier for the both of us."

Gilderoy sighed. It wasn't like it was especially personal or anything – hell, it even involved Artorias, to some extent – and it was weighing on his mind. Why not?

_Because you'll fight, as usual._

"Smough's been pretty upset recently." He ignored the voice at the back of his mind.

"This isn't about the expulsion thing, is it? Because I'm totally not sorry."

"Artorias…"

"Nevermind, ignore me."

Gilderoy paused for a second to make sure that the wolf was _actually_ finished before continuing. "His old team's just putting a lot of pressure on him, that's all."

"What do they want him to do? He's not at Shade anymore."

"No thanks to you," Gilderoy sniped.

Artorias feigned hurt, holding one hand over his heart and another to his forehead as though he were about to faint. " _All_ thanks to me, but go on."

"They feel that they would have qualified for the tournament if they'd still had him."

Artorias was silent for a moment, and his head hung low. He seemed deep in thought.

"I'm gonna be honest, I'm trying really hard not to laugh."

"Artorias!"

"What?" he snickered. "That's _so_ petty."

"One of the first year teams qualified. They think they could have won that spot."

"Griggs' team, right?" Artorias tapped his chin. "Okay, seriously, Havel should have been able to walk all over them with one hand tied behind his back – and he had two teammates backing him up. Sure, Smough might have made a difference, but the fact of the matter is that they lost anyway. Suck it up."

Gilderoy shrugged. "That's what I said, and Smough agrees-"

Artorias held up a finger.

"What?"

"Sorry, I just – the thought of Smough and me agreeing on something makes me feel sick. You were saying?"

Gilderoy rolled his eyes. "He knows they're in the wrong, we know they're in the wrong, but they're still upset with him, and it's getting him down."

"And I suppose they're upset with me then, too?"

"Beyond furious."

"Good thing I'm in Vale and they're in Vacuo, then," he said, lacing his fingers behind his head and resting his weight against the wall once again. "Don't let them, or Smough, get to you. Honestly, I'm surprised Smough even cares."

"He cares about his team."

"And precious little else," Artorias remarked.

"He's learnt his lesson."

"Has he?" Artorias took a seat, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forwards. "It's only been three months, and you know how set he is in his ways. He almost killed an innocent girl, Gil. He's lucky he got off with only an expulsion."

"You'd know all about killing faunus, wouldn't you?" It was a low blow, for sure, but Artorias was treading dangerous waters. Smough had his reasons, misguided as they were, and whatever might have happened, the fact of the matter was that he _hadn't_ killed the girl.

The wolf's face darkened, and he absentmindedly fidgeted with the signet ring on his right hand. "Don't twist my words, Ornstein." _Oh, we're going for last names now?_ "It's not the same. Quill was anything but innocent."

"Well, one day we'll have somewhere for people like Quill." That day was approaching fast, hopefully. It was his dream, after graduation, to establish an official military and law enforcement unit for Vacuo – turn the kingdom into a real beacon of order and security. One day, he hoped, the name Gilderoy Ornstein would be known in Vacuo in the same way that the name James Ironwood was known in Atlas.

The wolf rolled his eyes. "Let's not start that again." And, of course, Artorias was vehemently against him on the matter. Occasionally, Gilderoy thought he did it out of spite. "Prison is for people like Smough, too, Ornstein."

"Professor June didn't-"

"Professor June understands the balance of power in Vacuo. Shade holds the power – _she_ holds the power. She would never abuse it." He breathed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, I don't wanna fight-"

"Then why'd you bring up Smough in the first place?"

"Because he makes you happy, Gil. And you looked like you could use some happy. Man, that got derailed quick, huh?"

Gilderoy's face softened. Sure, they disagreed on a lot of points. The military. Smough Iris. Arthur Quill. But he couldn't say that Artorias didn't at least try to make things work. "Truce?" he asked, extending a hand.

"Truce." Artorias shook it.

They rest of the trip was filled only with the soft humming of the Bullhead's engines, though it wasn't much longer before they touched down in Vale.

And, of course, Artorias couldn't resist having the last word.

"Oh, dear Gilderoy, be sure to give Smough my very best," Artorias said teasingly.

Gilderoy sighed. Artorias' best to Smough would never be polite. "I'll tell him you told him to go fuck himself, then?"

"That's the spirit."

/-/

Artorias opened the door and stepped inside. "Mum, I'm home!"

She stood at the end of the hall menacingly, tapping her foot, her arms crossed. "You're late," she said, but the corners of her mouth were upturned.

"Sorry, C made me start my homework – can you believe they set homework over the holidays here?"

"You mean they don't do that at Shade?" Sun said, coming downstairs.

"Well, they do, but it's fun homework, like, go on a dangerous mission in the middle of the desert and slaughter some Grimm kind of fun," he explained.

_Wait._

"Sun?"

"Yeah?" the monkey faunus shrugged, grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl with his tail.

"…what are you doing here?"

"I offered him a place to stay until the Haven students arrive," Morgan said.

"Yeah, that – thanks again, Mrs Nym, by the way."

"Oh, I'm not married Sun, and please, call me Morgan," she laughed.

_He didn't say anything funny._

…

_Oh gods no._

"Right, of course – anyway, I showed up like three weeks before the Haven bunch were actually supposed to, so they don't have our rooms ready at Beacon yet," Sun said.

"Coffee, Arty?" Morgan asked, heading into the kitchen. "You still take it the same, right? No sugar?"

"Uh, yeah, thanks Mum," he said, following Sun towards the living room. Gil didn't need to know. But what he could _really_ use, with the suspicion that his mother had a _thing_ for Sun, was a glass of scotch. Several, actually.

Somehow he knew she wouldn't be too impressed by that. Coffee would have to do.

"And you, Sun?"

"Sure thing, Morgan," he said. Artorias resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"You'll have to bring your team to visit sometime, Arty," called Morgan. "I'd love to meet them."

"Actually, I tried to bring them all today," Artorias said. "But Gil's boyfriend's in town, so they're meeting up, and C's doing the homework, and Gough is…" he trailed off, looking up in thought. "You know, I don't know what Gough's doing, something about his weapon." Artorias shrugged.

He'd wanted to introduce not just Gough, but all his team to Team RWBY. But Ciaran, as usual, had chosen to study in their dorm rather than socialise, and Gilderoy, outside of class, did his best to avoid Artorias – not because they weren't friends, he reminded himself, but because they had a tendency to argue.

And by tendency, he meant they did it all the time. It wasn't fair on the rest of their team.

But they were friends.

"Dude, Gil's got a boyfriend? Do I know him?" Sun asked.

Artorias made a sharp sound of contempt. "Trust me, if you knew him you'd wish you didn't."

"I'll take your word for it."

Morgan walked in with three mugs of coffee on a tray. "Sun's been telling me all about the mission you fought against the White Fang," she said, giving him a pointed look.

Artorias looked away.

"…shouldn't I have?" Sun asked.

"Not a big deal," said Artorias, after a brief pause. "All's well that ends well."

Morgan nodded. "Later, then. Any other exciting adventures I should know about?"

Artorias realised that he'd taken his ring off, and was fidgeting with it. He slipped it back on and smiled as convincingly as he could. _I hope she doesn't ask again._

"Well, there's this quaint little town up on the northern edge of the desert called Izalith. I was invited out for the holidays last year. I'd been told that Grimm never go out there, and I never actually saw one, but I did get in a scrap with this creepy huntsman..."

/-/

Gough Iris considered himself to be a friendly person.

He was sure that there were some people who would disagree with him. But that was fine; Gough didn't feel the need to prove those people wrong. He had friends, good friends, whose opinions he trusted and whom he loved dearly, and he knew they loved him back.

That being said, he wasn't against making more friends. Through Artorias, he'd become acquainted with Team RWBY over the course of the week. And while he wasn't someone to take advantage of a friendship, he _did_ need help from one of them on a small matter.

Ruby, as they'd organised, came strolling into the firing range, a helmet on her head. "Thank you again for your assistance," said Gough.

"Oh, no worries!" said Ruby. Gough smiled down at her – such a lovely girl. Perhaps a little naïve at times – but then, everyone had been naïve at some point in their life. No harm no foul. And she had a wonderful team to support her, if ever there were a harm or a foul.

Although he was a little worried about Blake. Sure, he'd only known her for about a week, but something seemed off about her. It wasn't that she was introverted – he'd lived with Ciaran for two and a half years, after all – but she was more withdrawn than even Ciaran could be.

Again, though, he didn't know her that well. It was best, he thought, to wait for someone more familiar with her ways to raise their concerns before he got too worried.

"So… what are we doing again?"

Right. Ruby.

Gough held up the arrow, examining the end closely. Gravity dust was expensive to acquire in almost any form other than as mass-produced rounds, so he'd taken great care in carving the crystals into fletching for this arrow.

"You are an expert on weapons, correct?"

"Ah, well, I _like_ weapons, and I probably know more than most people, but I wouldn't go so far as to say _expert_ ," Ruby said, blushing.

"Your humility does you credit," Gough chuckled. "How knowledgeable are you about dust rounds? Specifically, gravity."

"I use them…?" she hedged.

"Do you think a gravity dust arrow would be able to carry a huntsman's weight?"

"So that's what that is, I guess," she said. "I don't know. You want to try, though, right?"

Gough drew his bow. "Are you still sure you want to assist me?"

She didn't respond. Her eyes were glued to the bow. Resting one end on the ground, it only came up to Gough's chest – but he was a little over double Ruby's height, by his estimate, and so the bow towered over her.

"That's a big bow…" said Ruby.

"And if you're still willing to help, I may soon be shooting you from it," Gough laughed.

"I'm in."

"Thank you," he said, nocking the arrow. "I shall, of course, provide cookies as a token of my gratitude." Ruby grinned at him.

_That could be an issue._ He didn't have the cookies on-hand, after all – he'd borrowed the kitchen facilities between classes to bake a batch, but he'd stored them in the dorm. Ciaran had been absentmindedly snacking on them as she'd read, and Gough himself had taken a few. It was his right to enjoy the fruits of his labour, after all.

Artorias, bless him, had probably taken a few as well. He'd probably eaten them with mustard too – it was one of those strange habits he had, mixing hot mustard with everything. Strange, perhaps, wasn't a strong enough word. Ciaran would call it disgusting.

But that wasn't the point. The point was that Gough was now out of cookies.

_I'll make some more after this. Perhaps she has a specific recipe she enjoys._

"I'll be aiming a little above the target in case there's more drop than usual, but if something goes wrong, do not hesitate to let go."

"No hesitation involved, got it."

"Good." It wouldn't do for her to get hurt on his account.

Although, in that case, the safest course of action probably wouldn't be to fire her from a bow with over a hundred kilograms of draw weight.

_But what is bravery without a dash of recklessness?_

"So… how am I supposed to do this?"

Gough drew the bow. "Grab on to the arrow shaft," he grunted. "Stand on my right, or you'll get caught on the bow's limb. And remember-"

"Bail out if I have to. I got it." She reached up and gripped the arrow with both hands.

"Ready?"

She nodded.

Gough channelled some aura into the fletching, and it glowed faintly purple.

Then, he loosed the arrow.

It tore forwards, and Ruby jerked along with it – but her grip faltered, and she quickly fell to the ground, rolling a few times before coming to a stop.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" she said, climbing to her feet. "But you'll need to add something to the shaft for extra grip."

Gough nodded. "I'll get on it. Thank you, little one."

"I'm not _that_ little," she complained, causing Gough to chuckle. To him, almost everyone was little. "So, about those cookies?"

/-/

"That's why I have you, though!" Smough cackled, his broad shoulders heaving with laughter. He wasn't unlike his brother – taller than most people, although not monstrously so, and very strong, with well-muscled limbs. Like Gough, he was bald, but recently he'd grown a rather handsome auburn beard.

"Smough!" Gilderoy blushed brightly. Why he'd decided to actually relay Artorias' message was beyond him. A way to start a conversation? Take Smough's mind off his own team? Just a spur of the moment decision?

It was probably one of them.

"No, but seriously, tell him I'll cut his ears off," Smough said, his booming laughter dying down. He looked down at his menu.

"Smough…"

"What? Too far?" He beckoned over a waiter. "I'll have the cheesy bacon quiche and a garden salad," he said.

"Hmm? Oh, I'll get the avocado on toast, thank you," said Gilderoy. The waiter nodded and collected their menus. "You can't just say things like that, Smough."

"What, he gets to insult me and I don't get to poke him back?"

"He doesn't mean it." In fact, he'd put the words in Artorias' mouth, not that they weren't accurate.

"Yes he does," Smough shrugged. "At least a bit. No harm no foul. What's the mutt been up to, anyway? And only tell me the bad stuff."

Gilderoy frowned. "I defend you to him. I won't recount his misfortune for your amusement."

"Oh, come on," Smough said. "Egg and the boys are really mad at me. I could use a pick-me-up. Just one?"

Gilderoy glared at him. Smough teased him by glaring back.

"Fine," acquiesced Gilderoy. "He and Quelana broke up."

Smough snorted. "Good riddance."

"You could at least try showing sympathy," Gilderoy said wryly.

"Why?" Smough shrugged. "Quelana is _wrong_ , just like the mutt. Her entire family is."

"I don't want to-"

"But I do. The faunus are unnatural, Gil. I know he's your teammate, but I don't feel comfortable with you being around Artorias all the time."

Gilderoy sighed. "We're teammates. We _must_ work together. I do what I can to make both our lives a little easier."

Okay, maybe that wasn't entirely true. They didn't do much at all to make each other's lives easier; they argued incessantly, in fact. But, regardless, Gilderoy considered the wolf to be a friend.

"But I doubt we'll see each other much after graduation." That would probably be true even if Smough hadn't been urging him on, especially if he did end up pursuing his military dreams. He doubted Artorias would want anything to do with him, in that situation. "Is that enough for you?"

Smough nodded. "It's not asking much, is it?"

"No," said Gilderoy curtly. "Let's drop it?"

"Sure."

They stayed silent for a while. The waiter arrived with their brunch.

"Gough says hi, by the way," Gilderoy said, just to break the silence.

"No he doesn't," Smough scowled, shoving a forkful of salad into his mouth violently.

"No," Gilderoy admitted. "He doesn't have to. I know he cares about you."

"He sided with that _mutt_ over his own brother-"

"I'm not saying he was right," said Gilderoy slowly, "and I still think Artorias shouldn't have brought it to the headmaster and put Gough in that position. But he does care about you. He cares about everyone."

"It's not possible to care about everyone. Not equally, at least. People fight. Gough made his choice; _you_ had my back. He did not." Smough sighed. "I'm going to have… a lot of time on my hands, when I go back to Vacuo. I won't make any promises, but I'll think about meeting with him when I return to watch the tournament."

"Thank you."

"…anything for you, Gilderoy," he said.

They ate the rest of their brunch in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The version of this story on FFN is at about Chapter 7, updating every Friday. I'll be uploading it to AO3 daily until I've caught up, and then probably on Saturdays, just in case I bone up and have to some last-minute editing. If you want to check it out there, it's under the RWBY archive (not crossover) using the same name: The First Immortal.


	3. Beacon Academy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terribly sorry, submitted the wrong chapter as chapter 3. Fixed now.

"Come in."

The elevator opened. "Ozpin!" Ironwood held his arms out in greeting.

"Hello General."

"Please, drop the formalities," he smiled, shaking Ozpin's hand. "It's been too long."

And oh, was it good to be back at Beacon? Where the council couldn't touch him, where the air was warm, where he'd be surrounded by friends, and…

"And Glynda." Her. "It has certainly been too long since we last met."

"Oh _James_." He didn't miss the mocking tone in her voice. "I'll be outside," she said, more to Ozpin than him.

Ironwood wouldn't let it get him down. "Well, she hasn't changed a bit," he said.

"So, what in the world has brought you all the way down from Atlas? Headmasters don't typically travel with their students for the Vytal Festival." Ozpin passed Ironwood a mug of coffee, which he accepted gratefully.

"Well, you know how much I love Vale this time of year. Besides, with you hosting? I thought this might be a good opportunity for us to catch up." What he really meant, of course, was sort out this whole… _Maiden_ business. But it was best to wait for Ozpin to bring that up himself.

For once, Ironwood was the subordinate. It wasn't a position he was used to.

"I can certainly appreciate quality time between friends. However, the small fleet outside my window has me somewhat concerned."

"Well, concern is what brought them here."

"I understand travel between kingdoms has become increasingly difficult."

"Oz, you and I both know why I brought those men."

Whoever was hunting the Fall Maiden would strike again, sooner or later.

Ozpin sighed. "We are in a time of peace. Shows of power like this will just give off the wrong impression."

"But if what Qrow said is true-"

"If what Qrow said is true then we will handle it tactfully. It's the Vytal Festival, a time to celebrate unity and peace. So, I suggest you not scare people by transporting hundreds of soldiers across the continent."

"I'm just being cautious."

"As am I. Which is why we will continue to train the best huntsmen and huntresses we can."

_That means nothing._

"Believe me, I am." It was the truth, but they should be doing more, _far_ more. He was the commander of the world's greatest military power, leader of the most technologically advanced nation – he could do so much more.

And he would. In a heartbeat. If only Ozpin would let him.

He sighed, and began to step away, but paused, a thought finding its way to his tongue. _Can your children fight a war?_

"Are you aware that Team Gwyn is here?" Ozpin asked lightly, before he could speak.

He paused before he spoke, recalling all he knew about the team. Students of Shade, a little splintered, but highly skilled. Some had assisted in stopping a terrorist plot at the last Vytal festival. "It doesn't surprise me."

"Professor June requested that I personally evaluate them. I understand that the Atlesian Military compiled files on them after the Quill conspiracy."

Ironwood narrowed his eyes. "On those involved, yes," he said. "Their leader did not participate in the investigation. As a team, they're somewhat fragile, but they are loyal to their friends, if not necessarily to each other, and they are dedicated to their job."

"That's certainly good to know, but I will require any additional details you can provide." Ozpin steepled his fingers and rested his elbows on his desk. "I'd appreciate it if you could send me their files."

That was a kicker. Ironwood didn't like handing off Atlas Military reports – even to Ozpin – without knowing the full reason why. Ozpin knew that, but it was clear that the older man was holding something back.

_It might be worth keeping a closer eye on them._

"Are you concerned-"

"No, I am not worried that they could be a threat. Please, James. Trust me."

And there was that word. _Trust._ Ironwood understood the need for both trust and secrecy – he wouldn't have gotten to his position otherwise. But trust went both ways, and it was becoming increasingly clear that Ozpin did not trust him as much as he claimed.

He grimaced and purged such thoughts from his mind, deciding to look at the facts – was it worth turning the information over to Ozpin?

Perhaps he was looking to recruit a new informant. Qrow was only one very flawed man, after all, and if his memory served, Mr Nym was apt at gathering intelligence.

But Ozpin had requested the files for the entire team. He cast his memory back to when he'd read them. The background checks hadn't turned up anything particularly interesting: Artorias Nym had a mother in Vale, father unknown; Ciaran White had been either orphaned or abandoned as an infant; Gough Iris' parents had been murdered when he was young, although Ironwood couldn't recall anything about the perpetrator. As for their abilities, Ciaran and Gough were either hiding their semblances, or did not know them, but if Ironwood's memory was correct, Mr Nym could talk to animals. It had been a while since he'd read the report, so he wasn't quite sure.

The reports were not kept up to date, of course – it wasn't easy to keep an eye on everyone Atlas had ever taken interest in. But if June and Ozpin had taken an interest in the team, it was worth reading up on their recent activities – and to open a file on Gilderoy Ornstein.

It was because of June that Ironwood made up his mind. This was at her request, and she was far less passive than Ozpin. Ironwood trusted that if she wanted it done, it would help their cause. So, at least Ozpin would be doing _something_ , not just sitting in his ivory tower, watching and waiting.

"I'll send them to you as soon as I can," he said, after a long pause.

"Thank you," the headmaster said, reclining slightly in his chair.

/-/

"Oh, come on. Classes start tomorrow, then we'll actually have to _do_ stuff – you remember how boring that is, right?"

"But important," Ciaran said. She didn't even glance over to him. She was lying in bed in her blue dress – _combat skirt_ , he reminded himself – her cuirass, gauntlets, and boots on the floor, her blonde hair splayed lazily about the sheets. As she often was, she was absorbed in a book.

Well, not so absorbed that she didn't answer _._ Artorias counted that a win.

"Screw importance," said Artorias. "I think we should do some non-boring stuff. Today."

"We'd appreciate details," Gough said. The gentle giant was sat on his bed, in his usual cobbled-together armour, whittling away. Whittling was a hobby of his. Artorias had once possessed, and been quite fond of, a ball of wood with the effigy of a wolf carved into it. Then Alvina had decided it would make a nice plaything.

_Damn cat._

"I was kinda thinking, 'find the other teams we're friends with and wing it'," Artorias admitted.

"The teams _you_ are friends with," Gil corrected, making his bed. "I've never met Team Ruby." His weapon, a shotgun-bident (Artorias always called it a spear to Gil's face, of course, just to annoy him), lay dismantled on the desk.

" _Despite_ my efforts," Artorias muttered. "And hey, Sun's here too. Remember Sun? Chill guy, blond, has a tail, shows off his abs even more than you."

"It still surprises me that he chose to enroll at Haven instead of Shade. But it seems he's done well for himself there. I shan't begrudge him that," Gough said.

"Then you're in?"

"Naturally," Gough chuckled. "I certainly don't recall saying otherwise."

"I have to do weapon maintenance," Gil said.

"Lame," Artorias accused, his ears flattening against his head.

"Important."

"What about you, C?" the wolf asked. "Keen to show off to some first years?"

She shrugged. "I have a lot of reading to catch up on." Hardly surprising. Even at Shade, she rarely left the dorm for anything other than meals and classes. She preferred to spend her time reading.

" _Concerning Beowolves: The Science of Grimm Pack Mentality_?" Artorias read the cover of the book in her hands.

"Highly informative."

" _Fantastic Weapons and How to Forge Them_?" It was on the floor, with several other books lying amongst her discarded armour. "You're not doing that insecure thing again, are you? Your daggers are awesome."

"I've been considering adding a ballistic component to my arsenal."

"Just carry dust crystals," Gilderoy said. "That's what Artorias does."

"At _your_ insistence," Artorias shot back. "They're not cheap."

Gilderoy shrugged. "It's important to have some long-range weaponry." He looked back to the desk to clean the parts of his dismantled weapon.

"Aura is a viable long-range offensive tool, thank you very much."

"But taxing," pointed out Gilderoy.

"Taxing on my aura, not my wallet," Artorias said, waving it off. He turned again to Ciaran's books. " _Nevermore: A Volume of Poetry by Peter Port_?" he read. "Sounds like a torture device to me."

"His words are _honey_ ," she hissed. "I'm surprised Winter never drilled any class into you."

"I think you've vastly overestimated how often Winter and I talk, C," Artorias said wryly. "But sure, I'll stop. You're sure you're not coming?"

"Yes!"

"Just you and me then, big guy."

"Excellent," Gough said, pocketing the ball of wood and lumbering to his feet. "I'm guessing the cafeteria."

"I'm betting library. Ten lien?"

"Twenty."

"Deal." The pair slipped out into the corridor.

/-/

"Watcha doing?" Yang said, leaning over her partner's shoulder. There were weird drawings in her book – a guy with a sword on his back, a rose-

"Nothing." Blake shut the book. "Just… going over notes from last semester."

 _Liar,_ Yang thought, but she didn't press the issue. She turned her head and caught a grape in her mouth. "Lame."

Damn, that was a good grape.

She caught another one and gave Nora, her grape-thrower, a thumbs up.

A binder slammed onto the table, filled to the brim with pages.

"Ahem," Ruby the binder-bringer coughed, seeking their attention. "Sisters! Friends! …Weiss."

"Hey!"

"Four score and seven minutes ago, I had a dream."

Yang rolled her eyes. "This oughtta be good." She caught another grape from Nora.

No, that one was a strawberry. She made a little noise of appreciation.

"A dream that one day, the four of us would come together – as a team – and have the most fun anyone has ever had… ever!"

"Did you steal my binder?" Weiss asked.

"I am not a crook."

"What are you talking about?" Blake asked.

"I'm talking about kicking off the semester with a bang!" She pointed imperiously to emphasise her point.

_I feel a pun coming on._

"I always kick _my_ semesters off with a Yang!" Yang said.

Nobody laughed.

"Eh?" _It's funny because – oh, forget it._

"Boo!" said Nora. A tomato hit Yang on the nose, and she glared at the offending ginger girl.

Ruby started ranting about… something. Something about being not-lame? The tournament? But Yang wasn't really listening, too busy arming herself with an apple. She threw it at Nora, and it bounced off the bubbly girl's head onto Ren's tray, scattering his food.

"I don't know. I think I might sit this one out," Blake said.

"Sit out or not, I think however we spend this last day we should do it as a team," said Weiss.

"I got it!" Nora armed herself with a pie, and threw it at Yang.

But she missed.

Time seemed to stop. Yang's eyes were glued to the pie, her mouth forming an 'O' of shock, as it went flying towards Weiss' face.

/-/

"Hey Sun."

"Hey man, big man, this is Neptune, my partner from Haven." The monkey faunus gestured to his blue-haired friend.

"Sup," said Neptune.

"Yo. I'm Artorias, the Wolf-"

"Dude, no. Seriously," Sun said, cutting him off.

Gough smiled in amusement and addressed Neptune. "And I am Gough," said Gough. Neptune nodded in acknowledgement.

"Right. So, anyway, where was I? Yeah, we were fighting side by side, and she was really fast, and I threw a banana at a guy which sounds gross, but it was awesome," Sun said.

"Nice," said Neptune.

"Right? And the best part is, she's a faunus." Sun looked side to side, covering his mouth with a hand. "But that's a secret."

"A 'don't tell Gough because you tell Gough everything secret'?" Artorias teased.

"A 'don't tell Scarlet the moment Sun turns his back secret'?" Neptune chimed in.

"Yeah, one of those ones. _Secret_ -secret," Sun clarified.

"I see," said Gough.

"Don't worry, man. We got it," Neptune said. "We _got_ it."

"You better," said Sun, tapping Neptune warningly. "I just don't wanna screw this up, you know? The people here are the coolest – no offense to you guys."

"None taken."

"Okay, they're just in here. I'm really excited for you to meet them, so be cool, okay? You're gonna be cool, right?"

"Artorias, Gough, scorecard?" Neptune struck a pose and put on a brilliant smile.

"Could be an eight in bad lighting, but an easy nine otherwise," Artorias said.

"Harsh, but fair. I'll take it."

"Like an ancient deity, chiseled from marble," Gough praised.

"Thank you," said Neptune.

"Right. I get it," Sun said.

He pushed the door open.

 _"Food fight!"_ a Beacon student screamed, fleeing past them to escape the mess hall.

It was pure chaos.

Tables were strewn about the cafeteria. Food was everywhere, splattered about the walls and floor. Towards the back of the hall, atop a mountain of tables, were four students – Artorias knew them to be friends with Team Ruby, but he hadn't personally met them yet. They were positioned at the opposite end of the hall to their foes, and the two teams were throwing insults and taunts at each other.

"You owe me twenty lien," Gough muttered.

The food fight was a short, messy affair. Artorias found himself impressed by the structural integrity of Beacon's food more than anything else – not that the martial display wasn't impressive.

But a breadstick capable of surviving an impact that threw Yang halfway down the hall? Leeks that could crack a stone floor? That was awesome.

They could use some more mustard, though.

With such condiments in mind, Sun and Artorias found themselves huddling behind Gough's broad form to avoid a drenching, hiding behind the man right up to the very end.

Neptune, on the other hand, was left high and dry. Or rather, the opposite - the blue-haired boy was soaked through, as was Gough.

"I love these guys," Sun said, walking over to his blue-haired teammate. Mockingly, he dusted off his pristine shirt.

Neptune directed a glare at him.

The doors burst open behind them, and the combat teacher – Goodwitch, if he remembered correctly – stormed through, a riding crop in her hand. With a growl, she waved her hands, and all the tables, the food, the plates – they all began to clean themselves up.

"Dude, we need someone like that at Shade."

Gough was too busy wiping grape juice from his eyes to respond.

A man with silver hair and a cane walked through the doors. Even if Artorias hadn't seen him when he'd given that long-winded speech welcoming the Vacuo students to Beacon, he would have been able to recognise the man in an instant.

 _Professor Ozpin._ Headmaster of Beacon Academy. A living legend.

The headmaster spared a brief glance for the bystanders as he walked past, and Artorias could have sworn that the headmaster's eyes lingered on him for a little longer than the others. Then he was gone, walking up to the deputy.

"Children, please, do _not_ play with your food," she said.

Despite the dangerous tone to her voice, Artorias snorted.

Yang fell through the ceiling with a cry – but the moment she clambered to her feet, she said, with a wink to her team, "Just dropping in."

And Artorias broke out laughing.

/-/

"Oh, look, she's sent the kids again." Roman grinned at the grey and green pair, walking over and pulling them into a pseudo-hug. "This is turning out just like the divorce."

Emerald gagged. "Spare us the thought of you procreating." _Well, you're no fun today._

"That was a joke," he said instead, palming a slip of paper from her pocket. "And _this_ ," he brandished the note, "just might tell me where you two have been all day."

"What?" Emerald patted down her pockets in distress.

"I'm a professional, sweetheart, pay attention – maybe you'll learn something." He held the note up to his face. Two addresses were written on it. "Why do you have these?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" the girl's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Yeah, I would. Now, where have you been all day?"

"Cleaning up your problems," said the cripple. "One of them at least."

"I had that under control," he gritted out. It wasn't far from the truth.

It would be useful to know how Cinder killed her rats, if he wasn't the one exterminating them.

"But that's neither here nor there," he said, putting on a disarming smile. "Yarrow wasn't anyone's problem."

"And now he _can't_ be anyone's problem," said green-with-envy. _Ugh, such a hideous shade of green, too._

"Bodies, especially ones that can't move, are a problem."

"The police won't-"

"I'm not worried about the police," Roman cut in, waving a hand to silence the brat. He wasn't even paying attention to which one had spoken. "Nobody liked him, but he was known in Vale's underground. We proceed with shady business as usual, nobody bats an eye. Someone people know _disappears_ , well – I won't say everyone loses their minds, but there will _certainly_ be some batting of eyes. If you weren't under _her_ protection, I would-"

"Do what, Roman?"

He looked over the cripple's shoulder, and upwards. Cinder descended to ground level, dangerously ravishing as ever.

"I'd uh… not kill them?"

"Cinder!" _Like a lovesick puppy._ Roman almost threw up on the girl's hair. It would have been an improvement.

"I thought I made it clear that you were to eliminate the would-be runaway."

"I was going to…" A blatant lie, of course. But Roman had done plenty of lying – he was good at it.

" _He_ was going to escape to Vacuo," said Vomit-hair. "Mercury and I decided to take it upon ourselves to kill the rat, and Neo's contact, too."

"I think he was some sort of cat, actually."

"What, like a puma?"

"Yeah, there you go."

"Quiet. Did I not specifically instruct you two to keep your hands clean while in Vale?" Cinder asked, thinly veiled anger making the two brats cringe away. Roman chuckled at them. Why not enjoy the fiery woman's temper while it wasn't directed at him?

"I just thought…"

"Don't think. Obey. And do not presume to silence a man who would otherwise keep his silence. Dear Roman is right; a trail of bodies is not in our best interest."

The shorter girl bowed her head. "Yes ma'am. It won't happen again." _Really, she's pathetic._

"That is not an excuse for you to grow lazy, Roman." Cinder turned to the crook. He laughed in her face, as carefree as he could.

_Confidence is a weapon._

"Why wasn't this job done sooner?"

_And you have no reason not to be confident._

"Uh…" Roman mockingly tilted his head, looking to the roof in fake contemplation. "Eh?" He pointed his cane to the right, towards a stack of cargo containers.

"Ehhhh?" _And just a step to the left._ He could turn it into a dance, a full stage number – Neo would enjoy it, or at least she'd enjoy his embarrassment.

"Ehhhhh!?" He spread his arms wide – there was basically a _wall_ of cargo containers behind him, after all – all full of dust. " _Sorry_ if I've been a little busy stealing every speck of dust in the kingdom."

"You're an inspiration to every punk with a gun and a ski-mask." Cripple-kid's tongue was dripping with sarcasm.

"Look around, kid, I've got this town running scared. Police camping out at every corner, dust prices through the roof, and we're sitting pretty in an old warehouse with more dust crystals, vials, and rounds than we know what to do with." He gestured back to the crates, the map, the _dust_.

"Speaking of which," he turned back to address his guests, like the oh-so gracious host he was, "if you guys wouldn't mind filling me in on your grand master plan, it might actually make my next string of robberies go a little smoother."

"Oh Roman, have a little faith," Cinder said, approaching him. She held a hand to his cheek.

He peered closely at her, noticing her eyes spark and her aura bolden with amused colour.

"You'll know what you need when you need to know."

But as frighteningly cheerful as her aura seemed, he didn't miss the aggressive, commanding current running through it. Her hand grew hot.

_Too much confidence?_

He looked away, and in the corner of his eye he saw her smile smugly. Her hand pulled away.

"Besides, we're done with dust."


	4. Rapport

"Of course, with the end of the Great War and the founding of the huntsmen academies, the monarchs of the four kingdoms abdicated their thrones at the behest of the last king of Vale as laid down in the Treaty of Vytal."

The first time Artorias had walked into Oobleck's classroom, he'd felt like he'd been shocked, and like he hadn't slept for a thousand years.

The feeling had yet to go away.

_Is he actually that fast? Or am I just really, really slow?_

"Now then, onto Atlas, or should I say, Mantle! I would be very surprised not to mention disappointed if any of you were not aware that the capital and name of the kingdom of Atlas was once Mantle. So, my question: who founded the kingdom of Mantle, and why was it founded?"

Artorias looked around. Nobody's hand was up. He raised an eyebrow at Ciaran – if anyone knew, it would be her. She shrugged back.

"Mr Ornstein!"

Doctor Oobleck appeared in front of their leader, leaning over the desk and staring over his spectacles. _I told you we shouldn't have gone for the front row, C._ And if she didn't know the answer… what hope did Gilderoy have?

"Do you have the answer?'

Artorias reclined in his chair, a smirk crossing his features.

Gilderoy stared right back at Oobleck calmly, for a solid fifteen seconds.

Artorias reached over and waved a hand over his leader's eyes. Gilderoy didn't even blink.

"Ah, wonderful, thank you for volunteering, Mr Nym!" And suddenly, Oobleck's attention was on the wolf.

Now it was Gilderoy's turn to smirk. Further along the row, Ciaran glared at him. "Why was the kingdom of Mantle founded, Mr Nym, and who founded it?"

"Well," said Artorias, "…some settlers went along and founded it… because otherwise Grimm would kill them?"

Oobleck pushed his glasses up his nose, then returned to stand in front of his desk. "The lesson I wished to impart is that it is perfectly fine to admit you do not know something. And while yes, you are almost certainly correct, that was a very broad answer.

"The truth is that _nobody_ knows the specifics surrounding the founding of the kingdom of Mantle, and if any of you had provided me with a detailed response I would have been immediately suspicious, albeit amazed should your claim prove true."

He sipped at his coffee.

"Nobody knows the details regarding the founding of the kingdoms of Vale or Vacuo, either. The response that they are sanctuaries against the creatures of Grimm, and that they were founded as such, is the only explanation we are ever likely to have. There are, however, many such lesser settlements across the world. The question worth asking about the kingdoms then, is this: who were their first monarchs, and what drove them to take power?"

"What about Mistral?" Ciaran asked, ever the intellectual.

"I'm glad you asked!" Oobleck said, suddenly appearing in front of the girl's desk. "Human and faunus settlers settled Mistral long before recorded history, it is true. But Mistral became a kingdom – by which I mean a nation with a monarchy rather than merely a stable haven from the Grimm – after the other three kingdoms, in a time when humanity was documenting its history in well-maintained… documents! Prior to the installation of a monarchy, we know that Mistral managed its affairs as a representative democracy. They named the head of the Hollow dynasty as one of three leaders in their standing military, and he used the position to consolidate power until he was, de facto, king."

The teacher dashed back to the other side of the room.

"We will of course be covering the history of Mistral in more detail in our next lecture."

Artorias let out an involuntary groan. Oobleck had decided, with students from all four kingdoms in his class, to educate them all on the histories of the kingdoms. Such a curriculum would have taken about half a semester back at Shade, under Professor Brim's tuition.

Oobleck, on the other hand, was trying to do it all in three lectures. And while he was doing a rather good job of it, the students were clearly struggling to keep up.

"Back to the matter at hand!"

Artorias had long since ceased taking notes. Now, he was aimlessly drawing messy spirals on his notepad, letting Oobleck's words flow into his brain half-processed. He'd remember them when he needed to.

"The now-defunct royal lines of Mantle, Vacuo, and Vale all stretch back long into the fog of history. That being said – there are numerous myths and legends that name the first monarchs of Vacuo and Vale and their deeds."

Gilderoy tapped Artorias' notepad with a fierce glare. Artorias rolled his eyes and waved him off, this time drawing circles instead of spirals.

"There is no evidence to support these folk tales, but that being said, there _might_ be some truth to them. Some of you may be familiar with _The Father of Giants_ – a children's book that would be unremarkable save for its inexplicable cultural success, and for the identity of the author, a veteran of the Great War. Many believe that the titular character is based on the last King of Vale. The point is this; _every story comes from somewhere._ "

Idly, Artorias found himself checking the clock. He was disappointed that they were only a quarter of the way into the lecture, but nevertheless he found himself impressed at Oobleck's pace.

"Mantle's first monarch is unique. There are hundreds – perhaps _thousands_ of folk-tales regarding Vale and Vacuo. But not even one exists for Mantle. But again, I digress! Onwards, to recorded history – to proven fact!"

/-/

"Hey Gil, how long until Goodwitch?" asked Artorias with a yawn, walking out of Oobleck's history class.

"Were you sleeping?" asked Gilderoy incredulously. "We've had her already. We're done for the day. We don't even have Goodwitch again until Friday."

"I could _never_ sleep in class," Artorias said, holding a hand to his chest defensively. "What do you take me for? Some kind of wastrel? A _miscreant_?"

"Sounds about right," said Ciaran. Gough chuckled softly.

"Fair call," admitted Artorias. "Well, I'm gonna go hang out with Team Ruby, then." Gilderoy had _hoped_ that the wolf would spend the afternoon doing something productive, whether it was starting on Oobleck's essay, revising the topics Port had covered (and he meant _covered_ in the loosest sense of the word), sparring…

_Why do I bother anymore?_

"No, you're not," said Ciaran, grabbing Artorias' arm. "You are going to start on that essay." _He's a lost cause. Don't bother._

"It's due on Monday. That's like… a long way off? Hey Gough, what day is it?"

Gough shook his head, an amused smile on his face.

"Get it out of the way early," Ciaran commanded.

Artorias narrowed his eyes. "If you drag me off to do some gods-forsaken essay, I will complain. Loudly."

"Artorias!"

"Ciaran!" he said, crossing his arms, shifting his weight to one leg, and mimicking her voice as best he could.

She sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose with her left hand. "You can't just have a whine every time I try to make you do something."

"Why not?"

"Because it's for your own good," she said, an unimpressed scowl forming on her face. "This is _important_ knowledge- you know what? If you can explain to me, right now, the political climate in Vale and Atlas and the key figures and events that lead to the current alliance, _in detail_ , I won't drag you kicking and screaming back to the dorm."

Artorias inspected his nails. Gilderoy knew that it was his tactic with Ciaran – he'd pretend to ignore her, enjoy her temper, and only when she was really, _really_ mad would he give her what she wanted, and even then it was usually with some compromise.

And yet somehow, Artorias and Ciaran were on better terms than Artorias and himself. _The mind boggles._

"Why?" asked Artorias.

Ciaran blinked once. Then twice. A deadly calm came over her, and her mouth formed a thin line. Then, she spoke.

"Because that's what the essay's _about_ , you _imbecile!_ "

"Oh, I see, you want to copy my hard work, is that it?" Artorias wore his best shit-eating grin, one he'd tailored over the course of two and half years to be perfect for irritating Ciaran.

"Artorias," said Gough warningly. Gilderoy's eyes flicked from the faunus to Ciaran. The girl was fuming, in her own somewhat-muted way. It was the eyebrows that gave it away, really – they'd dropped so low they were probably obscuring her vision.

"Fine," said the wolf. He took a deep breath, then recited, almost word for word, the last five minutes of Doctor Oobleck's lecture. And he did it _slower._ Gilderoy picked up on the things he'd missed from Oobleck, and to his eternal shame, started planning his own essay in his head. _Artorias doesn't need to know…_

"Happy yet?" Artorias finished.

Ciaran had taken a nonchalant stance, resting her weight on her left hip, her arms crossed, a mild smirk on her face – but her eyes spoke of disappointment. "You know, if you actually tried you'd probably be top of the class."

"Purely hypothetical," he said cheerily. "I can go now, right?"

She sighed and waved it off. "Go."

Artorias, apparently, felt that he needed to appease her."If I don't get it done, I'll let you punish me however you want – promise." _Why'd you work her up in the first place?_

Her cheeks blushed crimson. "I-I'll hold you to it," she stammered out.

"…do you want to come with?"

"I'm going to start on my essay, thank you very much," said Ciaran. Gilderoy shook his head. How the two of them could ever get along was beyond him.

"Suit yourself. You coming, Gough? Gil?" Gilderoy shook his head. He didn't have Ciaran's luck with the wolf – for them, an argument was far more serious an affair, and they argued _far_ more often.

"I'll come," said Gough. Neither Gilderoy nor Ciaran made to tell him otherwise. Gough, at least, took his studies seriously enough. He'd get it done without Ciaran's nagging.

"Enjoy your…" Artorias seemed to choke on the next word, " _essay_." But he smiled and waved facetiously as he and Gough walked down the hall to disappear around a corner.

"I have no idea how he does it," muttered Ciaran. "Could you sabotage his essay for me? I'd love to hear him scream."

"I don't want to know."

She rolled her eyes at him, though he didn't miss her cheeks grow a little red. "Not like that," she said.

"I'd rather not antagonise him either way," said Gilderoy. "Dorm or library?"

"Dorm's quieter," she said. "And I stashed a few more from Gough's latest batch of cookies. I swear he's making them sweeter than he used to."

/-/

"Sup losers," Sun said.

"So… we ended up in the library, can I have my twenty lien back?" Artorias whispered.

"Artorias," whispered Gough, fixing the faunus with a baleful eye, "that was a week ago."

"Fine."

"Hey Sun," said Ruby, looking up from their board game.

"Ruby, Yang, Blake… Ice Queen," he greeted.

"Why does everyone keep calling me that?"

_It's appropriate, it's funny. The list is almost endless._

_Okay, the list has two points. Almost. Endless._

"I never got a chance to introduce you to my old friend," said Sun.

"Aren't libraries for reading?" Neptune wondered.

"Lame," Artorias teased.

"Yeah man, don't be a nerd," said Sun.

"I prefer _intellectual,_ okay? Thank you." Neptune said. He sighed, squared his shoulders, put on his best smile, and waved. "I'm Neptune."

"So Neptune, where are you from?" Weiss asked.

"Haven," he said, strolling leisurely around the table to stand next to the heiress. "And I don't believe I've caught your name, Snow Angel."

"Um… I'm Weiss." A coy smile spread on her face, and she subconsciously pushed her chest out a little.

"Are you kidding me?" the blond boy at the other table complained. Artorias recognised him from the food fight. But, alas, his complaint went ignored.

"Pleasure to meet you," said Neptune.

"I never took you as the board-game-playing type," Sun said, leaning against the table next to Blake. _Subtle, Sun._

"Right… well, I think I'm done playing, actually. I'll see you guys later." She put her cards on the table and stood, walking away.

" _Women,"_ said the ginger girl at the other table. She too had been a participant in the food fight.

A downright scary participant.

"I'm worried about her," said Ruby.

"Isn't that kind of her thing?" asked Artorias.

"Well, yeah, but this is basically her thing on steroids," said Yang. "That sounded way less weird in my head."

"I'm gonna go-"

"Leave her be, Sun," said Gough. "She needs space."

"…right."

There was a moment of awkward silence.

"Uh, so, the other team from the food fight-"

"That's _us_!" said the ginger girl, interrupting Artorias. She bounced over to the table. "We're Team Juniper, _easily_ the best first years at Beacon."

"More like Team Loser-per," Yang joked. A collective groan arose from the students. Yang held a hand up. "Eh? Eh?"

Artorias rolled his eyes. "I won't leave you Yanging." He gave her a high-five.

"Don't encourage her lunacy!" Weiss said.

"Don't kick the puppy, Weiss-cream. He's a very good boy."

Ruby held her face in her hands. "Please… don't."

The blond boy from Team Juniper coughed, stepping up next to Neptune. "Yeah, we're Team _Juniper_ – not Loser-per, okay? Got it?" He sighed, and rubbed the back of his head. "I'm Jaune Arc." He gave his best smile. "Short, sweet, rolls off the tongue, ladies love it."

"Well, I'm no lady," Artorias said. "I'm Artorias, the-"

"Wolfy, no. Nobody calls you that. Nobody will ever call you that," Yang said.

"Hey, you let him have it." He gestured to Jaune.

"Well, it's kinda all he's got."

"Hey!" said Jaune.

"That's Pyrrha," she pointed to the girl with hair very similar to Gilderoy's. Artorias had a vague sense of déjà vu, like he knew her from somewhere, but he couldn't quite place it.

_Probably just the hair._

"Hello again!"

"That's Ren," Yang gestured to the boy with the pink lock in his hair. He nodded in greeting, before returning to his textbook.

"And that's-"

"Nora!" Nora cut in, a wide smile on her face.

"-a public menace," Yang finished.

"I'm really worried about Blake," Ruby muttered again, her face downcast.

"As am I," Gough said. "But she is your teammate, no? She trusts you? And you trust her?" _Wise-man Gough to the rescue, is it?_

"But-"

"Do you trust her to come to you when she is ready?"

They glanced at each other.

"She did say she would…" Weiss trailed off.

"Give her a chance to do so," Gough said. "I'm sure she will when she is ready. Now, do you mind if I join in on your game?"

_Gough, you sly bastard._

"Ooh, can I pet your ears?" asked Nora, bouncing on her feet. "My other faunus friends won't let me…"

Artorias sent Yang a questioning look. She mouthed two words back to him: _public menace_.

"…sure?"

Nora let out a little giggle that had Artorias worrying for his safety.

"So, Artorias, how are you finding Vale?" asked Pyrrha politely.

"Oh, I grew up here, actually. Can't say I'm sorry I left, but it's not bad being back." He struggled to speak smoothly with Nora aggressively massaging his ears.

He could see why nobody else let her.

"Really? I mean, I haven't been there myself, but Vacuo sounds kinda…"

"Chaotic? Unlawful? Disorderly?" he finished Jaune's sentence for him.

"Uh, yeah."

"All part of the charm," he said. "Ow- okay, Nora, I think that's enough."

"Aww." She seemed despondent, but she stopped nevertheless, bouncing over to Ren and spouting some nonsense about a Beowolf.

"If you don't mind me asking," said Pyrrha, "why did you leave?"

Before Shade, he'd gone to Flare Academy, north-east of Vale, past Forever Fall, and he'd _excelled_ there.

It would have been easy to get into Beacon from Flare. It would have been more convenient too – his mother would have lived just a Bullhead ride away in Vale, and he'd have been physically close to the friends he'd made at Flare. Not that there had been that many friends. He'd been much more quiet in those days.

But that was _why_ he'd chosen Shade. He'd wanted to prove his independence, and he'd wanted a fresh start, and Beacon just hadn't been fresh enough.

In his opinion, he'd made good use of that fresh start.

"I wanted to get away from home," he shrugged, keeping his answer simple. "It worked."

"I can understand that," Pyrrha said, nodding, but it was clear she didn't want to elaborate, and so Artorias didn't push.

"What about you, Ladykiller?" he asked Jaune. "You from around here?"

His face drained of colour. "Uh, well, I'm from a town on the edge of the kingdom, and Beacon was closest, so… I came here." Like Pyrrha, it was obvious that he didn't want to talk about it, so Artorias again decided to leave it alone.

"Actually, I was wondering, we've seen you and the big guy around before – hi, by the way – but I don't think I've seen your other teammates," said Jaune.

"Ciaran's not very social," he said. "I mean, she _can_ be social if she has to be, but she prefers to hole up in bed with a pile of books. She's cool though. And Gil, my partner – well, I argue with him a lot. Makes it difficult to stay in the same circles. But I have it on good authority he's a decent guy, when I'm not around," he laughed.

Pyrrha seemed unsettled. "How long have you two been like that?"

"Uh…" It had started around the time that Gil had first brought up his post-graduation ambitions, towards the end of their first semester. Even then, Artorias had thought that Vacuo didn't need a military, or even a strong law enforcement unit – everyone in Vacuo took the law into their own hands, but they all had a healthy respect for one another, so things rarely escalated. Sure, it was a little wild compared to the other kingdoms, but Artorias had come to appreciate the freedom, and he didn't want to see Gilderoy, or anyone else, strip it away.

But they'd still been able to ignore it, pretend that everything was fine. It had only been when Gil had started dating Smough, during the last Vytal Festival, that things had gotten out of hand.

"Like, around two years?" he guessed. He couldn't remember the exact date or anything, but it sounded about right.

"I can't imagine how frustrating that must be," said Pyrrha.

"Yeah," agreed Jaune. "I mean, when Cardin and I used to, uh… hang out, yeah, it was pretty hard on me and Pyr. But you know, that was only for like a few weeks."

"Eh, it's not so bad," Artorias said. "Put us in a room full of Grimm, we'll tear the place apart, no arguing, no nonsense. It's just off the battlefield that things go a little haywire."

"Still," pushed Jaune, "that really sucks."

"It works for us," Gough called from the other table. The wolf snorted to himself – Gough had given up on solving Artorias and Gilderoy's issues long ago. These days, he only ran damage control. It was exhausting, but sure, it 'worked', in a way.

"Let it go. Now, Yang, you say I have an army of Ursai under my command…?"


	5. Investigation

Gilderoy darted forwards, twirling his bident in front of him to push aside the bearded axe. His opponent – another student by the name of Creighton, if his memory proved correct – stepped backwards rapidly under Gilderoy's assault, swinging his axe upwards again and again to block Gilderoy's strikes.

Eventually, Gilderoy drove him back to the arena's edge, where he'd be disqualified for leaving, and the other student held his ground. Gilderoy fired off one shot, two, from the end of his weapon, the built-in shotgun pressuring Creighton's defence while the recoil repositioned the bident for a powerful strike.

Gilderoy grasped the bident by its crossguard with his left hand and by the shaft with his right, then drove it forwards and upwards. At the very last second, Creighton skittered sideways, lashing out with his axe. The hook (or beard, Gilderoy supposed) of the axe caught between the bident's blades, and Creighton tugged, hard, forcing Gilderoy to relinquish his grip to avoid being pulled over. The weapon clattered to the ground, and Creighton kicked it away.

Creighton advanced.

Gilderoy let out a growl and pushed his aura into his coat, concentrating hard to get the desired results. Runes, embroidered into the fabric with yellow shock dust, sparked at his mind's touch, and the world grew a little slower. _Focus, Gilderoy._

He leaned sideways, narrowly dodging a strike aimed at his neck, then ducked beneath another. He reached in, past Creighton's guard, trying to disarm him in turn, but Creighton spun his weapon, the haft striking Gilderoy across the knuckles. Gilderoy tried to disengage and run for his weapon, but Creighton was surprisingly quick for a man in full chainmail, positioning himself between Gilderoy and his weapon.

Creighton swung his weapon at range – to Gilderoy's surprise, the axe's head detached, a chain extending from the haft of the weapon. The axehead itself flew towards him, swinging like a flail. Gilderoy barely dodged it before it rocketed back to Creighton, becoming a simple axe once again.

Gilderoy growled again, and whispered, "Blessed was Ornstein, swiftest of knights."

He felt the appropriate runes respond on his coat, properly this time.

He chanted the phrase in his mind again and again, adding in another passage (another line of runes began to glow accordingly), coaxing the dust to aid him. Time moved noticeably slower now; Creighton grew sluggish, and the faint whispers from the audience grew quieter.

To them, he must have been like a bolt of lightning, dashing towards his weapon, leaping over a slow swing from Creighton.

_Blessed was Ornstein, swiftest of knights. Lockhart's child lit the night with song. Blessed was Ornstein…_

He rolled as he reached the bident, his fingers grasping around the shaft. His back foot slammed against the ground as he came up, halting his momentum, then he exploded forwards once again, still chanting in his head.

The head of the bident came up, batting the axe aside as it came down to meet him, opening Creighton's guard. Gilderoy turned into the movement, allowing momentum to carry his shoulder into Creighton's chest. His concentration lapsed with the impact, and the dust died down, but he no longer needed it. He kept spinning, body and weapon, and the bident came streaking upwards once again, this time colliding with Creighton's chin, lightning sparking out from the dust-lined blade on impact. Creighton flew backwards, head jerking up before he came crashing down to the ground.

"That's the match," Professor Goodwitch said.

Gilderoy nodded, slinging his weapon onto his back. He walked over to Creighton and offered a him a hand up. The other student – from Beacon, if he recalled – gratefully took it, and Gilderoy pulled him to his feet.

"Mr Wend, while I commend you for seeing a weakness in your opponent's equipment and capitalising on it, I would certainly recommend that you learn to combat those more agile than yourself."

"I'll work on it," said Creighton.

"And Mr Ornstein – I find your mastery of shock dust to be very impressive, but you should find a way to correct the weakness exploited in this match, whether by modifying your weapon or your style."

Gilderoy nodded. Hollow praise, as far as he was concerned – he had a semblance to help him out, after all. But few knew about that, and he hoped to keep it that way.

And as for his weapon?

It had been an issue on the rare occasions Artorias had deigned to spar with him. The wolf fought dirtier than most Hunters, incorporating grabs and grapples into his arsenal. Artorias' sword was threatening, but he was more dangerous up close, where his half-brawling style could catch an opponent off guard.

Even though he was familiar with Artorias' style, Gilderoy struggled to combat it. Such sparring matches had often come down to Artorias levering his own weapon against him, but the wolf's style was a rare one. He hadn't anticipated that Creighton's axe would prove so apt in a similar role.

Perhaps he could convince Artorias to spar with him again soon, just to practice.

"That is all for today," said Professor Goodwitch. "Not everyone has had a chance to spar, but I expect that you've all been paying close attention, and have learned from your peers' bouts. There will be more opportunities next lesson, of course. Class dismissed."

/-/

"Hey Art, I was at lunch with Team Ruby, right, and they're totally planning something!"

"Yeah?" Artorias drew a line on the piece of paper where he knew he should put the title of the essay.

He didn't write one in.

"Yeah, man, they were giving each other these subtle looks – except they weren't really that subtle, you know the type – and they kept referring to this mysterious 'later' when they would be busy. And Blake was actually eating lunch with them, so, you know, that's kinda rare these days. They're definitely up to something. Like, wow, they're bad at keeping secrets." Sun punched him lightly in the arm. "You listening, man?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm listening." It wasn't like he was working on the essay, that was for sure. He'd so far managed to write down one word – 'the' – as part of the title.

And he'd scratched that word out.

It wasn't that he didn't know what it was he needed to write. He just… didn't want to _start._

"So… you thinking we should get in on their whatever-it-is?" Sun hedged.

Artorias sighed, and scribbled down an actual title: 'Vale-Atlas Alliance'. Nothing too creative, but it got the point across – after all, that was what the essay was about.

Or what it _would_ be about.

He scratched the title out again, tore the page out of his book, bunched it up, and tossed it in the bin.

"I'm in."

"Sweet. I've already talked to Gough-"

"When?" Artorias had been with Gough not half an hour ago.

"-and Neptune and we've got a plan already, but big man's not coming along – said he wants to chill with Gil – but he's just gonna give us a hand, you know? Anyway, just wanted to get you on board."

He shut his book. "I said I'm in, and I'm in. What's the plan?"

/-/

Artorias gave Gough a thumbs-up in thanks from his perch – a tiny ledge, some twelve stories above the ground. Gough stowed his bow, returned a wave, then gave his attention to Gil and Ciaran again.

"I had no idea he could do that," Neptune said.

"Neither did I, to be honest," Artorias said, scratching the back of his head. "Lotta fun though."

"I was your test dummy?"

"Guys! Quiet," Sun said, clambering up a nearby tree. "They'll hear you."

"Don't we want them to know we're here so they include us…?"

"Where's your flair for the dramatic, Art?" Sun rolled his eyes, climbed a little higher, and wrapped his tail around a branch, hanging upside down.

"I…" Artorias stopped for a second to consider it. "Fine."

"Great, we'll meet up tonight near Yang to go over what we found. Let's do this!" Ruby's voice floated out the window.

"Yeah!" said Sun. _Come on, you call that dramatic?_

"Sun!?" Artorias could hear the girls scramble away from the window. "How did you get up there?"

"It's easy, I do it all the time." _Oh dear._

"You do _what?_ " Weiss asked.

"I climb trees all the time." Sun flipped in through the window. "So, are we finally getting back at that Torchwick guy?"

" _We_ are going to investigate the situation. As a _team._ "

"Sorry, Sun, we don't want to get friends involved if we don't have to."

"Pfft. That's dumb. You should always get friends involved. That's why I brought Art and Neptune!"

The girls' heads poked out the window.

"Sup," said Neptune.

"Yo," said Artorias.

"How did you even get up here?" asked Ruby.

"Gough helped," Artorias said, pointing down.

"Good afternoon!" Gough called.

"Oh…" Ruby nodded in understanding, though the rest of her team remained confused.

"Seriously though, can we come in? We're like, really high up right now," said Neptune.

They climbed in through the window. "Are we getting Gough up here too? Or…" Yang trailed off.

"Nah, don't want to pull him away from his team. I tried inviting them too, but I don't think Gil likes me that much," Sun said, shrugging.

"Aren't we pulling _you_ away from your team?" Weiss asked, directing the question to Artorias.

"I… well, you know, Gil and I argue a lot. Probably best to let them have their peace." He ran a hand through his silver hair.

"Alrighty then. So, I'll still go with Weiss. Sun, Wolfy, you go with Blake. And Neptune, you can go with Yang, since she doesn't have a partner." Ruby dragged the blue-haired boy over to her sister. "Everyone good?"

"Actually, Ruby, why don't you go with Yang? After all, she _is_ your sister." But Weiss' focus wasn't on Ruby or Yang – her eyes were focused on Neptune. _Oh, I see what you're doing._ _You want to go with eight-in-bad-lighting, don't you?_

_I dig it._

"But Weiss, who would go with you then?"

"Neptune could," Artorias offered, shooting Weiss a wink.

Yang stirred. "You know, I'd rather _not_ take Ruby along, it's kind of-"

"Ruby can come with us too, that's cool," Neptune cut in. "And Art can go with Yang." Artorias didn't miss the less-than-subtle wink that Neptune gave Sun. _I hope I wasn't that obvious._

"Yeah, I mean, it's probably better not to have too many people sneaking into a White Fang party, you know? Keep a low profile," Sun said.

"Right. Neptune and I will go with Weiss, Artorias can go with Yang, and Blake and Sun can go together."

"We're not-" Blake started.

"Yep! We're cool," Yang said, grinning devilishly at Blake and pulling Artorias out the door. "C'mon, Wolfy. Don't make me hound you."

"Xiao Long are you gonna keep doing that?"

"Gotta keep a leash on you somehow."

"Don't encourage her!" Blake yelled.

/-/

" _Don't_ ruin this," Weiss growled. Neptune trailed a few steps behind her and Ruby, either thankfully oblivious (or respectively distant) from their conversation.

"Weiss, what could I possibly ruin? You're just calling home, right?"

She didn't understand at all, the dunce. What if Artorias hadn't stepped in to suggest that Neptune accompany her? Would Ruby have even considered it, had it come from her mouth? Maybe yes, maybe no.

Ruby respected Artorias, though, even if his wisdom was often… questionable. And, for whatever reason, the older student was on Weiss' side.

_Don't get distracted._ _Ruby, Neptune,_ _problem!_

"Look, just try not to be so… _immature_ , okay?" Or maybe that was the wrong approach. Ruby's foolish ways made her own respectable, prim, _mature_ attitude stand out, after all.

But no! She wouldn't resort to such underhanded tactics. She was a Schnee, and she could stand out all by herself, thank you very much.

"You didn't lie to your family about the team leader thing, did you?" asked Ruby.

"No!" _And it's not about my family!_

"…okay."

"I can't say I've seen Beacon's transmit tower up close, yet," said Neptune, coming alongside them, startling Weiss.

"You should see the one in Atlas," she commented, maintaining her composure.

"Wasn't that the first one?"

"Correct." She winced at the word – too surgical, too precise, too formal. "Atlas developed the cross-continental transmit system to allow the four kingdoms to communicate with one another," she elaborated. "It was their gift to the world after the Great War."

"Ooo, look at me, my name is Weiss, I-" Ruby cut herself off on seeing Weiss' glare. "Sorry."

Weiss suppressed a sigh. _Well, at least I look oh so very mature now. Silver linings?_

"Don't be a pest," accused Weiss. "Besides, the only reason we're here is because _you_ like the tower so much. We could have just as easily made a call from the library."

"I think it's pretty cool," said Neptune. "I don't know much about the technical side or anything, but just what it stands for. Might as well make sure I get a close look at it before I go back to Haven, right?"

"Oh, of course," said Weiss. _The CCT is cool now, got it?_ "It _is_ a technological marvel, that's true."

"Is that… Penny?"

"Ruby, we haven't seen Penny since-"

"Penny! You two go, do your call-thing-whatever, I'm gonna go find out what happened!"

"Ruby!" _Wait! Actually… don't wait. This is perfect!_

"Go!" called Ruby, dashing away.

_Just perfect._

"She seems capable. Don't worry, she'll be fine," assured Neptune.

"She's too easily distracted," Weiss countered automatically, forgetting for a second that Ruby was inadvertently helping her. "Focus is important for a Huntress," she explained.

Neptune shrugged. "I think it's important to let people be who they are. Everyone grows up eventually."

Weiss looked at him. He seemed so nonchalant saying it too – it was almost like he meant it.

He _did_ mean it.

"It could get her killed." Ruby could be insufferable at times, but Weiss still considered her a friend – she certainly wouldn't wish death on her.

They stepped into the elevator, and Weiss put her scroll into the terminal instantly, cutting off the automated system. "Communications room, please."

"Welcome, Miss Schnee. I'll need your companion to identify themselves as well. Could you please place your scroll on the-"

Neptune presented his scroll and the automated voice halted in its tracks. "Welcome, Mr Vasilias."

The elevator began to rise.

"Being a Hunter is going to get us killed more likely than not," Neptune said. "I mean, sure, it's not ideal, but she'll grow out of it. Let her enjoy it while she can."

"What if it takes her too long to 'grow out of it'?" Weiss argued. _Is this a fight? Are we fighting?_ "She needs to learn the lesson now, not when lives are at stake."

"Well, when you put it like that," Neptune said, "I can see your point. But we all have our vices. I'm no different. I bet you're not either."

"Excuse me?" Weiss wasn't so arrogant as to think she was _perfect_ – but she could say confidently that any major shortcoming of hers was not a result of some _vice_ , but her inexperience. She was only a first year, after all.

"What I'm saying is," Neptune said slowly, "There are situations where I'd probably fail my team," he admitted. "Not because of overwhelming odds or anything, just because – I mean, I'd just freeze up." He shrugged calmly, although his tense jaw betrayed that he'd unwittingly strayed into an uncomfortable topic.

"Look, I still don't know Ruby that well, but I think when it comes to a life-or-death situation, she'd have a one-track mind," he said.

"I suppose you're right," Weiss sighed. And, deep down, she knew that he was. When push came to shove, she was sure that Ruby would pull through. "But it wouldn't hurt her to be a little more mature, sometimes."

"That's reasonable," Neptune said, seemingly relieved. The elevator dinged open, and they stepped out side by side.

" _Welcome to the Beacon Cross-Continental Transmit Centre. How may I help you?"_

"I need to make a call to Schnee Company World Headquarters in Atlas."

" _Absolutely. If you could head over to Terminal 3, I'll patch you through."_

"Thank you." She knew it was only an A.I., and a crude one at that, but it was good to be polite.

"So about this call – you want me to hang off to the side?" Neptune asked, walking a little behind her.

"That would probably be best, thank you Neptune." She was the best equipped to handle the talking, and if the secretary were to see Neptune over her shoulder – or worse, if she got roped into a call with Winter, _Father…_

That could be bad.

"So Neptune, what's this situation?"

"Hmm?"

"Where you'd let your team down?" she pressed.

He pursed his lips, if only for a second, but then a brilliant, disarming smile crossed his face. "The secrets make the man," he winked.

Weiss laughed softly, and sat in front of the terminal, but froze up before turning it on.

_What do I say?_

"Are you alright, Weiss?"

Her reflection stared back at her. She fixed her posture and put on a pleasant smile.

"I'm fine," she said.

She turned on the terminal.

/-/

Solaire noticed the girl as he polished down a table.

A pink bow in ginger hair, wearing a short dress of grey-ish green, highlighted with brighter greens. Green was a nice colour - he approved.

But he thought he recognised her - they'd never spoken, but he could have sworn that he'd passed her by a few times back at Atlas Academy. And, whether or not they knew each other, she looked concerned. Frightened, even - her shoulders were hunched a bit, and she glanced side to side nervously.

"Excuse me – I don't mean to intrude, but you look rather worried. Can I help?"

The ginger girl turned to look at the person addressing her. She looked him up and down, once – he was dressed in black, with a half-apron: the uniform of a waiter. Not his usual attire, to be sure, but she seemed to recognise him.

"I'm fine, thank you," she said, followed by a small *hic*. "I'm just waiting for a friend."

"Do you mind if I keep you company? Business is a little slow today."

"I'm not supposed to talk to anyone," she said.

"Ah, but there's the thing – I asked if _you_ minded, not whoever it is telling you otherwise," Solaire grinned. "If you object, worry not: I'll leave you be."

She turned to look at him directly, her head tilted to the left a little in thought. "I would like that," she said.

The waiter walked around the café's small fence to stand next to her and leaned against it. "I am Solaire," he said, offering to shake her hand. She nervously reciprocated.

"My name is Penny," she said.

"You're a first year, right? Atlas?" She nodded, and Solaire grinned. "I'm a second year. How are you finding Vale?"

"I haven't had many opportunities to explore the city," she said, "but I like Beacon."

"I can agree with you there," said Solaire. "Say – have you seen the Emerald Forest?"

"I've seen it from Beacon," she said, "but I haven't actually been there yet."

"A shame. It's quite beautiful. The leaves filter the sunlight, you see, so the air takes on this amazing golden-green hue. Even just from the cliffs, you can hear the birds in the morning – they have beautifully pure voices. Nothing in Atlas quite compares."

"That sounds wonderful," Penny agreed.

"Excuse me?" a customer called, pointing to their empty mug.

"Duty calls," he said. "I won't be a moment."

When he returned, she was gone.

/-/

_Dear Priscilla,_

_I said I'd write to you, didn't I? Though I suspect it'll be a while before this reaches you. I can't exactly send it from the middle of nowhere._

_There will be many letters, I'm sure. There is much I wish to share with you. The world is a big place, after all, with a lot of beauty. The desert is only a small part of that._

_That's not to say that the desert is not vast. Remember that morning on the walls? The dunes stretched all the way to the horizon. But beyond the horizon, the desert has an end, as all things do. There is a mountain range to the south-east, with peaks rising far up above the clouds._

_I know you want to see the world beyond the desert. I don't know that you'd like mountain passes, but it would be remiss of me to not recount all the world. A mountain pass is cold – colder than even the coldest night in Vacuo. The wind bites into you, dry and fierce, and it burns your skin red even faster than the sun._

_Sometimes, a pass will rise so high that you enter the clouds themselves. I know that sounds wonderful, but the world of clouds is quiet – the air is thick, and your words do not carry far. It's a little lonely. I must show you in person one day. It'd be far less lonely with you, I'm sure._

_I had the misfortune of being caught in a storm during my travels there. Lightning is far more strange in the hands of nature itself. But it's beautiful, too – without the power of the sun, it arrives in flashes of brilliant blue and purple, illuminating the silhouettes of stone peaks around you. And the noise – you've heard the distant rolling of thunder, but here it crashes around you, echoing off the rocky crags in a humbling, deafening cacophony._

_I am enjoying travelling the world again, but I look forward most to sharing it with you, Priscilla._

_Your brother._

_I love you, little Yorshka._


	6. Painting the Town

"Your bike is _gaudy_."

"Stylish."

"Blindingly bright."

"Just like my personality."

"Damaging?"

"I could just leave you behind, you know."

"Dogs aren't allowed to wander around in public without a leash except in designated parks."

"Fine. Get on, and _don't_ touch the hair."

/-/

_It isn't safe to talk here._

Those words had reverberated through Ruby's mind on her way into Vale.

Why wouldn't she talk about the docks? _It isn't safe._

Even though she'd seen Penny not half an hour ago, at the CCT tower, a sense of relief flooded her when she saw the ginger girl standing outside the café, as they'd planned, waiting for her. Ruby laid a hand on her shoulder.

_It isn't safe._

But Penny smiled at her, and motioned for them to walk, her eyes flicking back to the café briefly as they left.

_She's safe now._

It wasn't too long before Penny spoke. "I wish I could help you, Ruby, but I don't know anything about those men."

"Well, what happened to you that night? We were all together, and then you just disappeared!" She leaned in closer, an idea occurring to her. "Were you kidnapped?"

"Oh, no! Nothing like that."

"Well then where did you go?"

"I've never been to another kingdom before. My father asked me not to venture out too far, but… you have to understand, my father loves me very much. He just worries a lot."

"Heh, believe me, I know the feeling," Ruby assured her. Penny's eyes lit up in a smile. "But, why not let us know you were okay?"

"I was asked not to talk to you, or the rest of Team Ruby, or Sun, or Artorias the Wolf-"

"We don't call him that," Ruby cut her off. "I guess your dad was really upset."

"No, it wasn't my father."

They rounded a corner to see a square. A projection of General Ironwood stood before some robots, explaining… something. Ruby wasn't listening too closely, focusing more on the robots – the new ones especially, as they kicked over their outdated counterparts.

_They're so cool!_

"Ruby…"

And the – what did he call it? The Atlesian Paladin, he'd said. _So much gun!_

"Ruby, maybe we should go somewhere else," Penny suggested quietly.

Ruby looked to her friend, seeing her eyes widen at something, no, someone. Atlesian Soldiers – they pointed her out.

Penny ran.

"Penny? Wait! Where are you going?"

The soldiers had, by this point, proceeded beyond the pointing phase of their plan, and were giving chase.

Ruby's eyes widened.

_It isn't safe._

/-/

"C'mon, my friend's right in here!" Yang said.

"Junior's club? Makes sense. I guess I see why you didn't want to bring Ruby." Artorias got off the bike, swept his hair back, and followed Yang to the doors.

"Eh, she's been here before, but yeah, that's basically it." If those guys in black suits and red glasses were bouncers, they were doing a terrible job, rushing away from Yang on sight.

"She has?"

"Well, she's been outside it. Long story."

"Xiao Long we talking?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Is that your only line?"

He shrugged. "Throw me a bone, would you? I'm a faunus, you have _so_ much more material there."

"Good point."

Artorias caught a brief glimpse of the dance floor and the bar before the doors were closed in their faces. From the other side, he heard shouts: "Junior, she's here! She's back!"

"So, last time you were here…"

"I trashed the place," she smirked, cocking Ember Celica. An explosive punch blew the doors open again, and she sauntered through them, a wild grin on her face. "Guess who's back!"

About two dozen firearms were pointed at her face.

"Fireball whiskey, straight," Artorias said, walking in behind her, pretending to ignore the weapons. He walked around the left side of the bouncers, but his approach was blocked by a pair of twin girls. From their posture, he could tell they had some level of close-quarter combat training. "Paying customer. C'mon."

"Nobody shoot!" He was only man not in a stupid hat and glasses – Junior himself. "Blondie… you're here. Why…?"

"You still owe me a drink," she said, grabbing him by the arm and pushing through the henchmen.

" _Thank_ you," Artorias said, following her. He could feel the twins glaring daggers into the back of his head. Junior went around behind the bar and mixed their drinks. Artorias slipped some lien across the bar and took a seat.

"Umbrella, Junior," said Yang, "don't tell me you've forgotten?"

He rolled his eyes, turned around, grabbed a tiny umbrella, and stuck it in her drink.

"So… Blondie. Why are you here?"

"Roman Torchwick. What's he up to?"

"I don't know."

"How can you not know?"

"I haven't talked to him. I haven't even seen him since the night you first came in here. He paid upfront, I lent him my men, and none of them ever came back."

Artorias drained his drink in one go, catching Yang's irritated glare. "Hey, I haven't had a drink since I left Shade, like… a year ago?" And what a good drink it was, leaving a pleasant burning at the back of his throat. He had no idea where this stuff had been made, but it was clearly high quality. Junior knew his drinks.

"Barely over a month, Art."

"Drink-time is different, gimme a break," he said. "And a refill, thanks." He put some more lien on the bar. Junior pocketed it and poured another drink.

She huffed and turned back to Junior. "I'm not leaving until I find out what I want," she threatened.

"I already told you everything. Torchwick hired my boys, and I guess he wasn't happy with them." He leaned further over the bar. "Which is something I can relate to!"

Yang sighed. "C'mon Art."

"What about Torchwick's associates?" Artorias asked, tracing a circle around the rim of his glass with a finger. "Even old news is good."

Junior's eyes narrowed. Artorias rolled his eyes and passed some more cash over the bar, ignoring the face Yang pulled. _Money talks, Yang._

"There's a girl – been his shadow for as long as I've known him. She's short, always dresses in white, brown, and pink. Mute, too."

"And how long have you known him?"

"Five years, give or take."

Artorias nodded. "The girl's name?"

"He calls her Neo. Probably not her real name, but it's all I've got."

"Have you heard from Neo recently?"

"She came in here alone, not too long after I last saw Roman. She had a note, she wanted to get in contact with a forger."

"Who'd you send her to?" Yang asked.

"Ben Yarrow." He shifted uncomfortably.

"Address, scroll number… any contact details?"

Junior remained silent.

"I see. It's not good business to sell out a contact. Well," said Artorias, slipping a considerable amount of lien onto the bar, "why not just pretend we're looking to get something forged ourselves?"

Junior pocketed it, and grabbed a napkin, scribbling down an address. Artorias almost missed the tenseness in his shoulders, or the way his fingers fumbled with the napkin tray. Almost.

Junior was still withholding information. _Well, at least I can get that lien back._

"Any other contacts? White Fang, perhaps?" Artorias asked.

"Not that I'm aware of." That one, at least, was honest.

"What about the woman in red? Surely you've at least _heard_ about her," Yang asked. _Oh? The woman in red? Who's that?_

"It'll cost you," Junior said. Artorias easily caught the smirk that flitted across the larger man's face, but he knowingly walked into it anyway, sliding another wad of cash towards him. He winked at Yang as he did so, and she raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Get me another refill, while you're at it," he said.

Junior poured another drink, and Artorias raised it to his lips the moment it was pressed into his hand.

"Heard nothing," Junior confirmed with a victorious grin.

Artorias' glass was already empty, and he slammed it down onto the bar with his right hand. With his gauntleted left, he reached across the bar, grabbed Junior's tie, and pulled him over the bar, all in one fluid motion. The very moment Junior hit the ground, he reached into the man's pocket to retrieve his lien.

"I was hoping you'd say that," he said, a wolfish grin of his own spreading across his face. "Now, there's something about Yarrow that you're not telling us," he said.

Didn't he know Yang had trashed the place? Did he just miss the memo? Crossing the same person more than once was a bad, _bad_ move. Especially for a shady business like Junior's.

"Get f- argh!" Artorias pressed his knee to the small of the man's back, holding him down.

"Back off!" Yang yelled, and Artorias looked up. Her gauntlets were deployed. They were surrounded, but the henchmen were all quivering in fear. _Nothing to worry about, then._

"We've been very patient with you," Artorias said. "I'd like to think I'm a patient person, but that doesn't mean I enjoy it. I'm going to give you one more chance. You're going to tell us _everything_ you left out about Yarrow, and you are going to tell your men to piss off before they piss themselves. If you lie, I'll know. Trust me."

Junior's head bobbed in an awkward nod, and Artorias lifted his knee. "Back off, nobody shoot."

As the henchmen once again dispersed, Artorias stood, heaving Junior to his feet. "Talk. And get me another drink. One for the road, right?"

"Yarrow went missing a few weeks back. The police don't know, there might be something in his house, but Yarrow's gone."

Artorias drained his glass again. He blinked as he straightened a little too quickly, the world just a little fuzzier than he'd remembered. His senses were taken by a flash of green and the scent of sweet smoke, and for a second he thought it was a quiet afternoon in Izalith.

He shook his head, and he was back in Junior's bar. Yang made some parting quip to Junior before dragging him away.

He heard Junior grumbling under his breath as they left.

"Not bad, Wolfy," Yang grinned. "Like a bloodhound."

"New rule: until I get some top shelf Yang Xiao Long specific material, you're not allowed to compare me to random dogs. I'm a _wolf_ , dammit, not some house pet."

"Boring," she scoffed. "And no scathing retort? I'm disappointed in you. Are you running out of low quality Xiao Long jokes?"

"Got a Xiao Long way to go before we reach that point."

She stopped in her tracks.

"I know I said low quality, Wolfy, but… that was something else." Her brow furrowed, and she held up a finger, pulling out her scroll.

" _Everyone,"_ Blake said, _"if you can hear me we need ba-"_

" _HEEEEEELP!"_ Sun interrupted. _"They got a robot, and it's big, really big! That Torchwick guy's in it! But not like – it didn't eat him, he's like, controlling it or something!"_

"Where are you guys?" Yang asked.

"HURRY!" Sun screamed, as he ran past the alley. He was closely followed by the aforementioned giant robot. _Ah. Right._

"So I was thinking I have an essay to write…"

"Get on!"

The bike tore off down the street in chase of the robot. After a few tight corners that almost threw Artorias off, they went up a ramp onto a highway. The robot was throwing cars left and right, chasing relentlessly after Sun and Blake.

"We gotta slow it down!" Yang said.

"Hey, random question, totally not related at all, do you know much about dust? Like, how to use it?"

" _Not_ the time, Artorias!"

"Okay, it's actually serious question, maybe slightly related," he said, pulling an ice dust crystal from a pouch at his belt. "Because I have no idea."

"Just do something!" Yang roared.

"Alright! I'm on it!" He switched the dust to his right hand and drew his dagger with his left, leaping from the back of the bike and impaling the robot with his weapon.

_What does Gil do?_

"The winds did something, bless the whatever- ah, fuck it."

He gripped the crystal and punched the robot as hard as he could.

Pain shot up his arm as it, and a sizeable chunk of the robot, were enveloped in ice. The robot strained against it, and a few cracks formed, but the added weight was throwing off its stride. Although it seemed to be trying to throw him off, the ice was restricting its movement.

But Artorias was still stuck to it, rather uncomfortably too.

He tore his dagger from the robot and sheathed it, then laid his left hand on the block of ice and channelled his aura through it. After the third pulse, some of the ice cracked and his arm came loose. His left shoulder hit the tarmac first, scratching his pauldron, and he rolled – once, twice, then he regained control, and leapt atop a car as it sped past. Yang came up alongside the vehicle, and, with a carefree whoop, he jumped onto the back of her bike again.

"You're like a dog chasing cars," she said wryly.

"Except I know what to do when I catch them," he grinned. "More or less." Ice still encased his right arm from his wrist up to his shoulder, and he leaned backwards to smash the arm down on the road. The ice shattered.

" _I'm in position!"_ Weiss' voice came from over Yang's scroll, and up ahead, he saw her in the middle of the road, rapier poised. Cars swerved to avoid her, but she stood her ground.

"You alright?" Yang asked.

"It'll warm up in a few," he said, massaging his right shoulder.

The robot still continued its relentless charge, chasing down Blake. But Sun had doubled back and pounced on the thing's back. Neptune had arrived too, and had done the same, and together they were doing their best to bash it to pieces.

"You reckon Team Ruby can handle the robot?"

"Small game. Why?"

"I'll grab Sun and Neptune; we'll watch out for an escape vehicle."

"But-"

"There's _always_ an escape vehicle, Yang. Trust me." _I've had experience._

She nodded. The robot slipped on a patch of ice that Weiss made, sending Sun and Neptune flying from its back as it fell to the ground far below. Yang brought the bike skidding to a halt. Artorias was off it in an instant, sprinting over to the duo from Haven. He reached them just as they struggled to their feet.

"Neptune, ground level! Keep your distance, eyes open for an escape vehicle – probably a Bullhead. Sun, upper highway, same deal. I'll keep watch from here."

Sun rubbed his back. "You got it, man." Neptune nodded, vaulting over the railing. Sun, after another moment to crack his neck, leapt for a support column and scaled the smooth surface like it was only a ladder.

The world below was shrouded by fog. Within, he could just make out the vague shape of the robot, and the occasional disturbance where a member of Team RWBY was dashing about. The sound of metal striking metal reached him, and a few times he saw explosions from the robot's cannons.

The fog finally cleared as the robot fired a number of guided rockets towards Blake. The girl dived to the centre of a time-dilation glyph (not quite as impressive as Winter's, perhaps, but admirable) and struck at the missiles dizzyingly fast. Ruby dashed in then, as the glyph wore off, and Blake followed, the pair practically running circles around the robot.

When the robot finally caught up to them, they leapt high, bringing their weapons crashing down to sever the robot's arm.

Then came Yang, capitalising on the robot's disorientation, and she jumped on top of it, slamming her fist into it again and again. In retaliation, the robot dashed through one, two, _three_ concrete pillars, knocking Yang off – then it punched her through a fourth for good measure.

 _Get up,_ he thought. _Come on, get up!_

And she did. Her hair was glowing bright, and though he was watching from quite a distance, Artorias could have sworn her eyes had turned red.

When the robot punched again, she caught it, and struck back with a roar, blowing the arm apart. She was kicked away, but Ruby shouted out an order, and Blake threw Yang her ribbon, pulling hard and acting as a fulcrum for Yang's momentum. Artorias' eyes were transfixed, watching her – her hair burned in a trail behind her as she spun, building up speed and power – then her fist came crashing into the robot, breaking it apart like an egg to expose Torchwick.

_Well, seems like fire puns are on the menu._

Then a familiar humming reached his ears. A Bullhead.

He looked for it – it was at a low altitude, flying even below the highways, approaching fast.

"Sun! Boost us!" Above him, he saw the monkey faunus nod. He took a stoic stance, concentrating hard, and a single dim clone of himself appeared. It dropped down, and Artorias leapt, using it as a stepping stone to propel him into the Bullhead. Below, he saw it catch Neptune's jump and throw him too into the ship. Artorias drew his sword in anticipation.

Roman Torchwick and a short girl – from her clothes, Artorias guessed it was Neo – just… _appeared_ in the Bullhead.

Torchwick rolled his eyes when he spotted the wolf. "I've been having a really bad day, Blue," said the crook, gesturing to Artorias' cloak as he grabbed his cane.

"Well, we're kinda on a timer here anyway, so let's cut the pre-fight banter?"

"That's just rude," Torchwick said, but he bowed in acknowledgement. Neo vaulted over him as he ducked, aiming a kick for Artorias' chest. Neptune crossed between them, twirling his trident to block the kick, and he and Neo engaged in a fierce exchange of blows, moving to the opposite end of the airship. Meanwhile, Artorias found himself crossing weapons with Roman Torchwick in a Bullhead. Again.

"So how about mid-fight banter?" Torchwick laughed, masterfully redirecting Artorias' assault.

"I find it's appreciated more amongst friends."

"So you _do_ have a bark. Only a five for delivery, but I'll give you an eight for content," Torchwick grinned. "Goggles, you're up!" He twirled his cane, catching Artorias' sword, and delivered a punch to the chest that left the wolf staggering back into the Bullhead's wall. Instead of pressing the advantage, Torchwick turned, his weapon striking his diminutive companion. Rather than take the hit, Neo seemed to shatter – and suddenly she was in front of Artorias, her weak but quick kicks threatening to overwhelm him. A wicked grin was plastered on her face.

"Well, at least one of us seems to be having a good time," Artorias winked. He batted aside a kick and went on the offensive, but Neo ducked and weaved with ease, her parasol catching what few blows she couldn't dodge, her smile broadening in joy. She _lived_ for this.

Seriously though. _Who fights with a parasol?_ He let out a short bark of laughter at the thought, and Neo looked at him strangely.

"I guess both of us are enjoying ourselves, then," he said. She jumped back slightly and held a hand to her chest in mock surprise.

"Artorias!" Neptune yelled, as Roman kicked him from the Bullhead. The wolf made the mistake of turning.

A fierce pain erupted in the back of his head.

He turned back to Neo, his eyes narrowed. She was standing well back, against the opposite wall, an innocent smile on her face. At his accusing look, she pouted.

"Neo, _what_ did I tell you about making friends?" Roman said.

She gave Torchwick a rather rude gesture, then gave Artorias an apologetic shrug.

_Is she serious?_

Neo rolled her eyes at his confusion, then attacked again. Her assault became more of a dance – she weaved in and out of his guard, every light tap of her feet pushing him only a little off balance before he recovered. He found himself grinning back at her in delight. He danced with her now, dagger in left hand and greatsword in right, her more aggressive assault leaving a few openings for him to strike back. Some of those retaliations even landed, although they still seemed ineffectual.

Apparently Roman got sick of their little routine. Artorias landed a particularly strong blow that bounced off Neo's aura, but left her reeling, and so Torchwick joined the fray. Between the two of them, they made quick work of Artorias, pushing him the short way backwards until he had nowhere else to go but down.

He hooked his left arm around Neo and leapt from the Bullhead.

They grappled briefly as they fell, trying to gain the advantage. After a short struggle, Neo escaped his grasp. She gave him a menacing smile and a salute, then she disappeared.

She reappeared shortly afterwards in the Bullhead, waving at him as the ground rushed upwards.

_No fair._

Unlike the last time he'd fallen a considerable distance from a Bullhead, he righted himself before he struck the ground, landing on his feet. His knees buckled with the impact, but at least he didn't crack his head.

"Nice of you to drop by," Yang said with a smirk, sauntering over to him. Her team followed behind, with Weiss and Sun supporting Neptune. He must have had a rougher landing.

"Just following the trail you blazed," he responded.

It took about a second for Yang to process it, but when she did, her face lit up with a broad smile, and she turned to Weiss.

" _That's_ how it's done."


	7. Delicate Matters

"He's had a good start," said Gough.

Ciaran looked up from her notepad. Artorias was sparring with a man in heavy black armour, the greatsword in his hand nearly as long as Artorias was tall, and with a rectangular shield stretching from the ground up to his shoulder. The man in black cut an imposing figure, but the wolf danced around him effortlessly, a wild grin on his face. He hadn't drawn his dagger, instead wielding his greatsword deftly in his right hand and grappling, punching, and pulling with his left.

"He's not trying," she said.

"He doesn't have to," shrugged Gough. It wasn't said judgementally, not at all. It was a statement of fact.

Ciaran returned to her notes. She was brainstorming a way to have the more headstrong members of her team, Artorias and Gilderoy, put their differences aside. They were only third year students, true, but graduation was creeping up on them faster than they seemed to realise.

She didn't want it all to end when they left Shade.

So far, the plan, if it could be called that, was to corner them at the dance and lock them in a room together until they sorted it out – possibly prefaced with a heartfelt, well-prepared speech. The dance was still a couple of weeks away, but it was the perfect opportunity, a night of friendship and high spirits. If there was one night that they'd be willing to give it a go, it was then.

Artorias was unbelievably stubborn when it came Gilderoy's military ambitions, but they could usually tiptoe around that one. The big problem, the irreconcilable difference, was Smough.

Smough had been horrible to Artorias when they'd first arrived at Shade. Artorias hadn't let it get him down, of course – the threats, the names, the occasional violent outburst – but he always gave as good as he got. Back then, Artorias would do anything to Smough – anything short of instigating the fights himself, at least. He still got a few detentions.

Eventually, Smough moved on to torment easier targets. It was probably at Gilderoy's request – it was when they started dating that he eased up on Artorias – but their wills still clashed on a regular basis. Artorias would step in to stop Smough whenever he tried to mess with other students, especially fellow faunus. Artorias found himself in a teacher's office at least once a fortnight, in those days.

But he always got detention with Professor June, which he didn't mind – or so he claimed. Smough, on the other hand, served detention with Professor Brim: an intelligent man and an excellent teacher, to be sure, but he was quite the bore.

It was obvious the faculty knew about Smough's racist tendencies, otherwise they wouldn't inflict Brim's unique brand of punishment upon him. But they'd never had the cause to take a more serious action until he'd attacked Quelaan.

The twins Quelaag and Quelaan were faunus – from the waist down, they had the bodies of spiders. Easy targets for a racist. Quelaag shied away from her heritage, preferring to make herself as scarce and as normal as possible.

Quelaan, on the other hand, revelled in it. She'd scared the other first years on orientation day by pretending that a massive spider was eating her. She'd filled the locker of her older sister Quelana with cobwebs on multiple occasions. She'd even done it to Ciaran once, mistaking her locker for Artorias' (she'd apologised profusely when she'd realised her mistake).

Then, one day, a few weeks into the semester, Gough had walked into Team Gwyn's dorm, and though Ciaran couldn't place it, something felt… off. He was silent, unnaturally so – he would often hum a little tune to himself, or be accompanied by the soft sound of a knife scraping against wood, but on that day, he was silent.

She'd asked him what had happened.

He'd muttered something unintelligible. Artorias. Smough. The spider twins.

She'd asked again.

Smough had goaded Quelaan into a fight in the courtyard. He had three years of experience on her. It had been doomed from the start. But he'd taken it too far. She was in a coma. Most of her legs were broken. Her ribs too. One arm had been dislocated. Then Artorias had arrived on the scene and stopped Smough.

At that point in the story, Artorias returned to the dorm. His aura must have been drained in the fight, for his lip was split and beneath a ragged hole in the side of his jerkin, grazed skin slowly leaked blood. He didn't say a word – just went to change into a clean shirt.

" _He could have killed her,"_ Gough had said, wringing his hands. That poor, innocent girl, full of love and life and cheeky mirth, brought low by his brother – a cruel, vindictive man who Gough couldn't quite give up on.

" _But he didn't,"_ Gilderoy had said. He'd been there, in the corner, doing his homework like a good little student – but listening, the whole time. His face had been blank. Emotionless.

A mask.

But he'd said it anyway.

Artorias had looked colder than he ever had before, a vision of stone and rage. But still, he'd kept his silence, directing one disappointed glare at his leader before storming off again.

It was another week before Quelaan had woken up. For her own safety, she'd chosen to drop out of Shade and return home to Izalith until she recovered. Professor June told her she was guaranteed a place in the school, whenever she felt ready to return.

"You have your thinking face on," said Gough, startling her from the memory. "What's going on?"

"Do you find the idea of me thinking odd?" she teased.

"Perhaps," Gough chuckled. "My question stands."

Ciaran mentally shrugged. _Why not?_ "Do you know if Artorias is going to the dance with anyone?"

Gough raised an eyebrow. "It's a bit early to be thinking about the dance."

"But do you know?"

"He's not shown interest in anyone."

Ciaran nodded. It would be easier to get Artorias and Gilderoy together if she wasn't pulling them away from anyone, but she could work around it anyway – if she knew who she was dealing with. But she still had to plan for Gilderoy as well…

"Oh, are you going with anyone Gil?" she asked.

"No," he said curtly. Ciaran nodded in understanding – Smough, of course, was back in Vacuo. Gilderoy was the easier target, then – he'd probably spend his time standing awkwardly in the corner with Gough.

"How about you, Ciaran?" asked Gough, an uncharacteristically cheeky smirk on his face. _What's going through that head of yours, big man?_ "Anyone take your fancy? You are going to leave the dorm for once, right?"

"I leave the dorm plenty, thank you very little. But… I don't really _know_ anyone."

"Sure you do," Gil said. Ciaran didn't miss how his eyes met Gough's, just for a moment. _What are you two up to?_

Gilderoy didn't elaborate.

_Gilderoy's easy enough, when I ask him to do something he usually does it. Artorias is the hard one – maybe if I rant at him for a while?_

_That rarely works. Right._

_So maybe I just wait for Artorias to isolate himself,_ then _drag Gil over to him? No, that's leaving too much to chance._

_Maybe I can just invoke a 'no-questions-asked' with Wolfy._

_I've got time. I'll figure it out._

"Artorias Nym wins," Professor Goodwitch said, interrupting her train of thought. The wolf was helping his fallen opponent to his feet. Once they were both up, Artorias offered to shake hands, and the other man took up the offer.

"Mr Nym, I'll be sure to match you against more assertive opponents in the future."

"I'm offended, Professor," he said, his eyes widening in mock horror and his ears drooping to the sides, "I worked _hard_ for that victory." He grinned at his opponent, who responded by rolling his eyes.

Goodwitch just glared at him.

"I'll just… go then?"

"That would be best, Mr Nym. And Mr Tarkus, I understand that you act as a bulwark for your team, but it would be prudent to hone your offensive capabilities for one-on-one combat."

He nodded, and left the arena.

"I'm afraid we're out of time for today. Remember, it's important to put work in outside of class as well as in class. Don't slack off in your free time. Class dismissed."

"So, waddaya think?" Artorias said, sauntering over to his team.

"You have a massive ego," drawled Ciaran.

"Thanks C," Artorias said, bowing dramatically. "Any _actual_ criticism from the audience? Always looking to improve and all that." Ciaran rolled her eyes. He was just trying to provoke them.

Hopefully, Gil wouldn't take the bait.

Gough shook his head, smiling and started making his way to the exit. Gil gave Artorias one look, then said, "You still got the dust?"

"Yup." Artorias patted a pouch on his belt.

"Learn to use it."

"Ah! Dust! My one weakness," Artorias laughed, a grin on his face. "But I'll have you know, I'm an apt dust mage these days."

"Oh? How would you imbue your weapon with burn dust?"

Artorias frowned dramatically in thought, holding up a finger. "With my fist?" he guessed.

Gilderoy sighed, and turned to follow Gough.

"You know, criticism is overrated. I prefer your special brand of praise, Ciaran."

"It wasn't- you know, nevermind."

Artorias laughed again – he was certainly in good spirits, but he often was after sparring, especially when he won (which was often). He slung an arm around her, pulling her close to his side. "You're learning, C."

"Giving up isn't learning, Wolfy."

"In this case? Sure it is. Learning's usually your forte. What took you so long?"

"You're an ass, Wolfy," she said, but she smiled and wrapped an arm around him anyway.

/-/

"I've got very exciting news, everyone!"

Yang looked up from her lunch. Artorias was walking towards them, a lunch tray in one hand, the other arm wrapped around a girl in a blue robe and black armour with pale blonde hair. "Didn't take you for a kidnapper."

"If I were, I'd be doing the taking," he quipped. "Ciaran left the dorm!"

"You dragged me here from class," said the sorry soul.

"You let me."

She sighed, pried herself from Artorias' grip, and gave one, awkward wave. "Hi. I'm Ciaran."

"Well it's nice to meet you, Ciaran," said Ruby, through a mouthful of strawberries. She stuck her hand out. "I'm Ruby!"

Ciaran took her hand, and Ruby shook so vigorously that Yang was worried someone would get hurt.

"You're friendly," Ciaran observed, not in a mean-spirited way. A grin spread across Ruby's face.

A thought occurred to Yang, and she elbowed Artorias. "I'm Yang," she said, smirking, "the Beautiful Blonde Brawler."

Ciaran glared at her teammate. "You're a terrible influence, Wolfy."

"Thanks, C."

"And that's the Ice Queen," Yang said, pointing at Weiss.

"Hey!"

"Even Torchwick knows it, Weiss-cream. Don't fight it. And our last team member is… conspicuously absent." Yang looked to her right, where Blake usually sat. If Yang had to guess, the faunus girl was at the library again, searching restlessly for information on the White Fang's recent movements.

Artorias sat, plonking his lunch down in front of him. Yang eyed the yellow mass curiously.

"Is that mustard?" Ruby asked.

"With steak," Ciaran corrected, letting out a long-suffering sigh. She sat down as well, and began picking at her decidedly mustardless food.

"I don't see any steak," Yang pointed out.

"It's under there," he claimed, delicately consuming a forkful of the stuff. Yang supposed there _must_ have been some steak on it somewhere, else the mustard would have just dripped off.

"I'd hardly count that as a meal," Weiss said.

"Steak and mustard go together," he said.

"Steak with mustard on the side, perhaps," Yang said. "I'm still not entirely convinced the steak exists."

He drew his plate closer to him protectively.

"It hasn't killed him yet," Ciaran shrugged.

"And it never will," he claimed, with a smug smile. Yang considered it a marvel that his eyes weren't watering from the heat. "So. Blake. She still hung up on the White Fang thing?"

"Obviously," said Weiss, averting her eyes from Artorias' meal. "It's not good for her. She's working herself to death."

"Yeah, I mean, we said we'd help her out and all, but that's not an excuse to just keep going crazy, you know?" Ruby said.

"And we've made some progress," said Yang. "I mean, you were there, Wolfy, hounding that giant robot? And we got the Yarrow lead, and that thing about the hideout in the south-east."

"And the SDC records singled out Vale as the primary target for dust robberies," said Weiss.

"Oh, so you weren't just flirting with Neptune?" Artorias smirked, leaning his elbows on the table and cupping his chin, adopting a mockingly dreamy look. The vision was ruined somewhat by his chewing – he'd just put another forkful in his mouth. "I want to hear _all_ about it," he said. Yang snickered at his antics as Ciaran punched him lightly on the arm.

Artorias suddenly sat ramrod straight, his eyebrows shooting into his hairline. "Nose-rush!" he cried, his mouth forming a small 'o' has his breathing turned heavy.

"Serves you right," Ciaran said.

"Suddenly I'm glad that you're only obsessed with strawberries and cookies," Weiss drawled, looking pointedly at Ruby.

"And milk!" Ruby reminded her.

Artorias slammed his hand onto the table, scrunched his eyes shut, then seemed to recover, letting out a sigh of relief. "Gods, it felt like my brain was on fire." He pointed an accusing look at Ciaran, who turned his nose up at him, smirking slightly.

"Told you so."

"Didn't kill me." He cracked his neck. "Right. Where were we?"

"Neptune," Yang reminded him. "Details, Weiss-cream. Details."

"I'm not sure it's worth dignifying you with a response," Weiss said, crossing her arms. "Especially you," she said, in a pointed comment to the wolf. Artorias shrugged as if to say, _fair enough._

"Is that why you got rid of me?" Ruby wondered.

"You walked off all by yourself, thank you very much," Weiss said. "And how _is_ Penny, anyway?"

"Wait, you saw Penny?" Yang asked.

"Who's Penny?" Ciaran asked.

"Ha, heh, ah, she's just a friend," Ruby explained. "Uh, she's fine, yeah. She's fine."

"What happened to her after the docks?" Yang asked.

"Um, she went home. To sleep. Yeah." _Very convincing, Rubes._

"I'll take your word for it, then," Artorias said, though his narrowed eyes betrayed that he too was suspicious. "Oh, so Ciaran, the other member of Team Ruby, Blake – she likes to read. I reckon you'd get along, if she wasn't being all weird right now."

"Oh?" Ciaran asked, perking up. "What does she read?"

Yang found herself grinning wildly. "Literature," said Yang. "You know, like capital 'L' Literature, very stimulating… mentally, of course. She gets _really_ into her books _._ "

Ciaran nodded. "Not bad. I recently read _Foe_ by-"

"Ah, mm, nope," Yang cut in. "We're not really the bookworm types, but if you ever run into Blake, you should _definitely_ ask her what she's read recently."

"I'll keep it in mind."

"So, Weiss…" said Jaune – where he'd come from, Yang wasn't sure. It was as though the blond boy had just… appeared. From thin air. "There's a new restaurant opening in Vale on Thursday. Thought, maybe, you know, you might want to…"

"No."

"Well, I never saw _that_ coming," Artorias said, smirking.

"There's no need to be rude," said Pyrrha with a frown, as she caught up to her leader.

"No, no, I'm serious – I really expected it to work that time."

Pyrrha's brow furrowed, and she moved closer to Jaune protectively. Jaune ignored her. Yang rolled her eyes. _Stupid blond idiot._

"I mean, he's not wrong," Jaune said. He took a seat, either shrugging off his latest rejection with practiced ease, or hiding his despair beneath a cheery demeanour. Yang knew that the boy wore his heart on his sleeve, yet for some reason she felt it was the second.

"I'm not?" Artorias queried. Everyone ignored him.

Ciaran looked curiously at Team Juniper. "So… hi?"

"Oh, right, how very _rude_ of you, Wolfy, not even introducing your own teammate," Yang said, winking at Pyrrha. A small smile crossed her face. "Jaune, Pyrrha, this is Ciaran. Ciaran – eh, you get it."

Jaune stirred. "The name's Jaune Arc," he said. "Short-"

"Jaune, no," Yang said, cutting him off.

"Doesn't he still need that? I mean, it's like you said – what else does he have?" Artorias peered at Jaune curiously.

"He's slowly learning to handle rejection," said Weiss dryly. "I suppose he's got that going for him."

"You know what they say, practice makes perfect, Snow Angel," Jaune said leaning towards her. "And I'm also getting a lot of practice asking you out."

Weiss regarded him with a deadpan, then looked away, pretending he wasn't even there. Jaune shrugged again, seemingly unphased.

"That's odd," Artorias said, looking at his scroll. "Ozpin wants me in his office."

"Detention?" Ciaran asked, raising a mocking eyebrow.

"Maybe, but I'm pretty sure nobody's given me a detention yet. Then again, I might have been sleeping when they gave it to me. I dunno – hey, has he called any of you guys? Might be a debriefing for the robot thing."

"Nope," said Ruby. Yang and Weiss nodded in agreement with her. "And that was days ago, anyway. Weird."

"Yeah. Weird," Artorias mused. "I guess I'd better be off then. You cool?"

"Hot, actually," Yang said, ignoring the rolling eyes of her teammates. Artorias snorted.

"Always fear the flame, Yang," he said. She tilted her head in confusion, but his smile took on a wistful quality, as though he were enjoying a private joke. He gave Pyrrha and Jaune a mock salute. "Ladykiller, Fun Police," he acknowledged, then he turned on his heel and walked away.

"You two get along like a house on fire," Ciaran observed.

"He's fun," said Yang, shrugging.

"He's insulting," Pyrrha said quietly, but then her eyes flickered to Ciaran. "Sorry, I don't mean to-"

"It's fine," she assured the champion. "He's… an acquired taste."

"And he has rather odd tastes himself," Weiss said, peering once again at his unfinished 'meal'. Yang looked over too – indeed, she could now make out the vague outline of a steak, slathered as it was in the yellow condiment.

Idly, she wondered whether it was some sort of semblance, to be able to eat that much mustard without throwing up.

"What do you think, Vomitboy?" Yang asked.

"I mean – I don't _not_ like him. He's-"

"I meant the mustard," she deadpanned. "How about it? Maybe we could get a reenactment of the famous barf! Just… not on my shoes this time."

"I'll pass."

"Well, I like him," Ruby chimed in. "He's… brave. I don't mean like, fighting, but he seems alright at that too – but he always seems to say what he thinks, you know? And his weapons are cool – I mean, a bit simple, but still cool, so that's good too."

"Oh really?" Ciaran said. "I might have to one-up him, then. Gough tells me you're an expert on weaponry."

Ruby blushed and stammered something incomprehensible.

"Here we go," Yang sighed.

/-/

"If you don't mind me asking – why do you want Nym in particular?"

Professor Ozpin looked out the observation window, towards the city. For a while he said nothing, and Ironwood was left only with the inexorable sound of gears quietly pushing against each other.

"Oz?"

If the older man had been startled, he did not show it, turning to him calmly. "Mr Nym is rather apt at investigation, per your own report. Is there an issue?"

"No," Ironwood said, "I just find it odd. He's still just a student."

"Students go on missions regularly. This is hardly different."

"Oz-"

"For Mr Nym, at least, it won't be too jarring. Vacuo handles things differently."

"He has personal ties. It could compromise the mission."

Ozpin polished his glasses. "I see you've done some more digging."

"I thought it prudent," he said. Artorias' relationship with Miss Acribus hadn't been on the report given to Ozpin, as they weren't yet an item at the time the report was commissioned.

Ozpin nodded. "Mr Nym may have some insight that Specialist Schnee will not. He may have even known Anastacia. Tell me – have you investigated Mr Ornstein as well?"

Ironwood, grimaced, then nodded. "If you want a written report, I'm afraid there isn't one. Not yet, at any rate." And it wouldn't have many details, anyway. He hadn't dug up much on Team Gwyn's leader.

"That's fine, but thank you for offering."

Ironwood narrowed his eyes. Ozpin was searching for _something_ from Team Gwyn, but he wasn't sure what. It was clear he'd taken an interest in Artorias Nym especially – after all, he wasn't sending the rest of his team on the mission. But in regards to Ornstein, Ozpin either didn't expect Ironwood to help him – or he didn't want him to.

Beacon's headmaster was a secretive man indeed, not that Ironwood didn't already know that.

There was a _ding_ from the elevator.

"Come in," said Professor Ozpin.

Artorias stepped into the office, taking a brief glance around the room. His eyes met Ironwood's, for just a second, before settling on Ozpin.

"No offense, Professor, but I prefer June's office."

"None taken," said Ozpin, engaging in the small talk. He sat in his chair, and gestured for Artorias to sit too.

"You've made a name for yourself, Mr Nym," said Ozpin.

"Is that a good or a bad thing?" Artorias asked.

"Good, for the most part," said Ozpin, "though I hear you're a bit of a troublemaker at Shade."

"At the risk of sounding like a child – Smough usually started it."

"Quite. Coffee?" Ozpin offered.

"I'm fine thanks."

"Have you been in contact with Mr Iris since his departure from Shade?" asked Ironwood. Smough Iris could be useful - he seemed to be the closest thing to an authority on Ornstein. And, even if Ozpin apparently didn't care for his assistance on the matter, Ironwood had taken his own interest.

Gilderoy Ornstein sounded not unlike a young James Ironwood.

"I certainly hope I haven't," Artorias quipped.

"I'll take that as a no, then," said Ironwood.

Artorias nodded. "Gil has though. They're dating, gods know why."

"I suppose such things aren't always logical," Ozpin said.

"That's one way of putting it," Artorias laughed. "Smough's a racist git. Gil – well, he's not so bad."

Ironwood nodded, more to himself than to the student. "If you don't mind me asking, how is Mr Ornstein?"

"He's alive," Artorias said simply. "You know him?"

"Not personally," Ironwood said, though he offered the student no further explanation.

Artorias shrugged. "I don't think I could tell you much more than whatever your file says."

Ironwood frowned. "We don't have a file on Mr Ornstein."

Artorias raised an eyebrow. "Is that the truth, or is it classified?"

"Both."

Artorias' smile grew, and he looked down and to the side briefly before his gaze returned to Ozpin. "I don't suppose I'm here just to talk about my team leader and his ass of a boyfriend?"

Ozpin reclined slightly in his chair. "That would be rather pointless, I agree. Mr Nym, I want you to know that what we're about to tell you is… sensitive. It's caused quite the panic in Vacuo, and we'd rather not see the same happen in Vale." He sipped at his coffee. "It would be best if you could keep the details to yourself."

Artorias' face fell. "What happened?"

Ozpin sighed, removed his glasses, massaged the bridge of his nose, then replaced his spectacles. "Izalith was destroyed by the creatures of Grimm," he said.

"Is Quelaan alright?"

"She is safe," said Ozpin.

Artorias let out a sigh of relief. "Thank the gods."

"Thank her team," said Ozpin. "They were visiting her when the attack began. They saved many lives in the evacuation."

Artorias' brow furrowed. "I don't- Izalith was so quiet. There hadn't been any Grimm activity there in years. I don't understand."

Ozpin looked to Ironwood. It was his turn.

"It was highly unexpected," said the general. "But there are some alarming details. There are rumours among the survivors that the Grimm were being led by a human."

"What?"

"It's unlikely, I agree, but the rumour has spread rather quickly in Vacuo. I'm sending Specialist Schnee to investigate the claims; Professor Ozpin requested that you join her."

"You know," Artorias said, addressing Professor Ozpin, "Winter wouldn't be happy at the suggestion she can't handle it on her own." Ironwood drew a deep breath, then nodded reluctantly – he wasn't wrong, though Winter was a professional and wouldn't take it out on him, at least.

"Perhaps. But I want you there anyway," said Ozpin.

"Might I ask why?" That was a question Ironwood wanted a proper answer to as well.

The corner of Ozpin's mouth turned upwards. "You are familiar with Izalith. You may find something Specialist Schnee would miss."

"Winter doesn't miss much."

"I also trust you. When you return, you will give me your full report. Directly." Ironwood narrowed his eyes. Ozpin was rarely so blunt – but at least it explained why he wanted someone to go with Winter. He wanted a direct line of communication.

Artorias raised an eyebrow. "Trust? Professor, this is the first time we've ever spoken."

"I trust Professor June more than anybody on Remnant. She vouches for you. Certainly, there are people I trust more than you – no offence, of course – but those people are somewhat conspicuous, or otherwise indisposed."

Artorias nodded slowly, accepting the answer. "So. Any specifics I should know?"

"We lack the specifics ourselves," said Ironwood. "For now, that serves our purpose – you and Specialist Schnee will get information straight from the source. As for who that source is, the only Hunter team we know to be present was Team Kitetail."

Ozpin glanced at Ironwood out of the corner of his eye, then his eyes settled again on Artorias, his face adopting a stern, grave expression. "There's something else," he said. "Anastacia Sil. We must know what happened to her."

Ironwood's eyes widened, and he glanced sidelong at Ozpin, pursing his lips. Ozpin had seemed none too pleased that Ironwood had entrusted that name to Winter. That he was handing it off to someone he trusted only by proxy caught Ironwood off guard.

"Ana mentioned her once," Artorias mused. At first glance, he seemed deep in thought, but his eyes were fixed on Ironwood, a gleam of wit hidden within. He hadn't missed the general's surprise. "Oh, Ana for Quelana, not Ana for Anastacia, by the way – it'd be pretty hard for Anastacia to mention anything. She's the mute, right?" Ozpin nodded. "I get the whole 'Hunters save lives' thing, but why her in particular?"

"Classified," Ironwood cut in before Ozpin could speak. It was _highly_ classified, in fact.

"Identifying the human amongst the Grimm takes priority, of course," Ozpin said, "but do not forget her."

Artorias nodded. "What do I tell my team?"

"You may inform them that Izalith has fallen, and that you've been exempted from classes to ensure that your friends are safe. Beyond that, please remain silent," Ozpin said. "And ask them to do the same. There's a flight leaving for Vacuo tomorrow morning. We'll organise a ticket for you. Are there any further questions?"

Artorias shook his head.

"Good luck, Mr Nym," Ozpin said, gesturing to the elevator.

Artorias nodded. The room fell silent for a time after the elevator began its descent. Ironwood gathered his thoughts.

"Ozpin-"

"Trust me, James," said Ozpin. "Is this not what you wanted? For us to take a more… active role. I am merely choosing an actor."

"Is that what this is? You want to recruit him?"

He pursed his lips. "June does, but she's deferred the final decision to me. I've yet to make up my mind."

"Yet you told him about the Summer Maiden?"

"She has a name," Ozpin said quietly. He shook himself, as though out of a trance. "You did much the same with Miss Schnee."

"She needs to know who to look for."

"As does Mr Nym. But I was made aware of Miss Schnee's role in the investigation rather late," Ozpin accused. Ironwood averted his eyes – he'd sent word to Winter the moment he'd heard Izalith had fallen, and hadn't discussed it with Ozpin.

"Ideally, I'd have sent Mr Nym alone," he continued. "I suppose it's a good thing you picked Miss Schnee for the mission. They've worked well together in the past."

"I trust her. She's one of my best."

"And he is June's." _What makes him trust June so much more than me?_ "It matters little. We'll have our answers soon enough."


	8. Auld

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're caught up to the FFN mirror now, so it'll be weekly updates from here on out.

Artorias stepped off the airship and was immediately greeted by a wave of comforting warmth. Some found the desert heat too harsh for their liking. Artorias didn't mind it.

Unlike Vale, the city's airship docks were synonymous with the academy's airship docks. Shade had originally been built away from the city after the Great War, but when the government was dissolved half a decade later, the city came to grow around the academy, and the old docks were abandoned in favour of extending Shade's.

But calling the area around the academy a 'city' was a bit of a stretch. Shade, of course, had its fair share of permanent buildings, but the area immediately surrounding the academy was comprised largely of tents, caravans, and other makeshift living quarters. Heading west from the academy lead to the city proper, where actual houses and shops and roads were common.

Even further west, beyond Vacuo (the city, not the kingdom), lay the ruins of Old Oasis. What the ancient city had once been called was long lost to time, but it was built around what had once been a lush oasis – and so, in the modern era, had been named as such. Sunlight Academy, the only preliminary combat school in Vacuo, sat in the ruined city's centre. Below Old Oasis lay the dust quarry, still rich with resources even after centuries upon centuries of mining.

Just because Old Oasis was a ruin didn't mean that it was abandoned. People still gathered there – mostly miners, or those attending Sunlight. It was also a popular spot for people to hide, which, ironically, made it June's first port-of-call to find troublemakers.

"You're back."

He knew that voice – feminine, dainty, quiet, and if she spoke more he'd identify just the slightest hint of a lisp, the result of her faunus heritage.

Artorias, following the voice, looked to his left. A slightly woman stood there, her face concealed within black robes trimmed with gold.

"Apparently so," he said.

Artorias could just about make out Quelana's smile beneath her hood. "Is Vale really that boring?" she asked.

"Eh, it's alright."

"That doesn't tell me much," she said.

"Livelier than I remember," he said.

She tilted her head. "You've not gotten into trouble already, have you?"

"Day one," he said. "White Fang and friends – actually a nice change of pace, after someone let go of Smough's chain."

"I think Smough let go of his own chain, if he ever had one," she remarked.

"Might have been Gil, actually," he mused. "Gods only know what those two get up to…"

Quelana stepped closer to punch him lightly on the arm. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous."

"Jealous? Of Smough or Gilderoy?"

"Hmm…" she tapped her chin in thought. "Definitely Gilderoy."

He looked skyward, laughing softly at the thought. "You caught me," he said, before letting out a long, drawn-out sigh. Gods, he hadn't even realised how much he'd missed her until he'd seen her again.

"Quelaan's missed you. Quelaag says she's following in your footsteps."

"Oh?"

"She didn't offer any specifics. Said it was all very hush. I can only imagine she's been getting herself in an awful amount of trouble."

"And that's following in my footsteps? I don't know what you're talking about."

Beneath her hood, Artorias saw green eyes glimmering in the darkness, and for a moment he lost himself to a quiet afternoon in Izalith.

"I thought you two broke up." It was a gruff voice that spoke this time, deep, gravelly. Artorias was snapped out of his trance, looking to the newcomer.

"How's the team, Rocky?"

"Small," said the man. Despite only being a year older than them, Havel Rockwell appeared much, much older – he had a worn and grizzled face with a rugged, thick white beard. Havel was notoriously strong, with armour carved entirely from granite, wielding the fang of a King Taijitu as his weapon.

The Grimm it had been taken from must have been ginormous.

"I heard you were upset with me."

Havel shrugged. "It's mostly Leeroy. He and Egg are still miffed we didn't qualify." He scoffed at the thought. "Need to get over themselves, really."

"And you?"

"We didn't qualify," he said, stating it as a fact. "It is what it is. Leeroy's pissed at Smough, Egg's pissed at you, then they're all pissed at everyone and I have to be pissed too, least a bit. No hard feelings, Wolf. Just sticking up for my team."

Artorias nodded. "I always knew you weren't an ass."

"Don't push it. June sent me down to send you up. She's not the most patient woman."

"She hasn't gotten a new assistant already, has she?"

"You weren't her assistant. You were her pet, at most."

"And you're not?" Quelana challenged.

Havel let out a short bark of laughter, but didn't deny it. Quelana's eyes narrowed, and she spun to face Artorias again.

"You've been back ten minutes and you've already got detention?" Quelana accused, her forked tongue hissing against her teeth. But there was a scathing mirth in her eyes that he recognised – she was messing with him.

"I'm just that good," Artorias grinned goofily. "Give Smough my _very_ best, if you see him."

A toothy smile appeared on Havel's face. "I'm sure he'll appreciate it. Don't keep her waiting, or I won't hear the end of it."

Artorias nodded, and Havel turned, walking towards the dorm block. Artorias looked to Quelana. "We'll talk later, yeah?"

"Of course," she said. "I'll be in town. You've heard, right? That's why you're back?"

"Izalith, yeah," he said. "I'm sorry."

She sighed. "So am I. I've been working to settle in the refugees."

"I'll go see June and your sisters, but I'll head into town when I'm done, alright?"

She nodded. "Good. I'll see you then."

/-/

"It's done, then?"

Smough nodded, tossing a pouch onto his employer's desk. The man opened it a little, and looked within.

"Smaller than I thought."

"It's the one," Smough growled. He'd been contracted to take down a Deathstalker in the dust quarry – but his employer offered a bonus to have the stinger delivered intact, to extract the venom. For Smough, that wasn't an easy condition. He'd had to detach the stinger before killing the Deathstalker, so it wouldn't disintegrate. Given that he didn't have any cutting weapons, that had been something of a challenge. But it hadn't been too large a Deathstalker, so he'd been able to fling it into a wall with his hammer until it had landed on its back. Then it had just been a matter of tearing the stinger loose with his bare hands and putting it out of its misery.

"I just want my money," he said.

His employer nodded and slid some lien over the desk. Smough counted it before pocketing it – it was the right amount.

He knew it wouldn't be easy to find work without proper Hunter credentials. Mission boards were closed off to him – if he wanted work, he had to find a contractor in person.

For a few weeks after his expulsion, he'd considered travelling to Mistral, where there were frontier towns aplenty. People there were willing to trade more than just money for work – food and board came to mind. He could probably establish himself quite nicely as the local protector of one, maybe two towns close to each other. People would look up to him. They wouldn't care that he hadn't graduated, if he did his job. He'd be able to put Shade, Vacuo – the high and mighty Hunters, he'd be able to put them all behind him.

"I'll contact you if I have further work," said his employer, "but don't count on it. Not like I go looking for Grimm." He waved his hand in dismissal.

Smough left the building, shading his eyes with one hand. It was a little past midday, and the sun was blinding – especially since he'd spent most of the day underground.

His scroll buzzed in his pocket. He looked at the number – he didn't recognise it.

"Smough Iris speaking."

" _It's Ciaran White."_

Smough paused, an ugly grimace crossing his features. "What do you want?"

" _Artorias is in Vacuo."_

"Good for him," Smough snorted. "Why should I care?"

" _I want you to talk to him. He and Gil-"_

"I'm going to stop you right there. I don't care," said Smough.

" _Look – I know you don't get along, but this is for Gilderoy. You care about him, don't you?"_

Smough sighed. "Yes."

" _Like it or not, Artorias and Gil are friends, and you're the wedge between them."_

"I'm the wedge between them? Nym is the wedge between us."

" _I don't care how you see it."_

"That's rich."

" _I don't like you. You don't like me. But we both care about Gil, right? If you and Art put aside-"_

Smough hung up on her.

His scroll buzzed again. He answered it.

"Who is it?"

" _I have just one question for you: are you ready?"_

"For what? Who is this?"

" _Are you ready for this weekend when Vacuo Underground Tournament champion John Beana defends his title-"_

Smough hung up again, pinching the bridge of his nose. For quite a while, he'd been getting incessant calls from telemarketers – though he'd thought they'd stopped of late. It had been almost a week since the last one.

"Idiots," muttered.

/-/

Like Ozpin's, June's office was at the top of the academy's CCT tower. Unlike Ozpin, June's office was a cluttered mess. In lieu of a desk chair, she had a comfortable couch, and instead of a desk she had a coffee table strewn with papers, files, and occasionally her scroll. The walls were a warm, inviting red, and were covered in paintings, and with shelves full of antiques. The carpet was soft to touch, the colour of cream. June didn't like people treading dirt through it, and so Artorias had removed his boots in the elevator on the way up.

Idly, he wondered if Ironwood had ever been forced to go barefoot. He snickered at the thought.

Professor June herself appeared only to be in her late twenties, or perhaps early thirties, with a head of auburn hair and piercing golden eyes. Artorias had at first been surprised by her age, given her prestigious position, but she had a hidden wisdom beyond her years.

She just didn't show it very often, at least to her students.

"So, Artorias – what did he do this time?" she said, looking over the top of her scroll at him, her eyes glimmering with mirth.

"We're not doing this again, are we?"

"Indulge me," she said.

Artorias sighed, then slipped into a caricature of himself, shifting his weight to his left hip and gesturing wildly with his right hand. "I swear, Professor," he said, "I was just training and he ran into my fist! I didn't mean it!"

She smiled, and threw her head back in laughter. "Been a while," she said, leaping to her feet and walking over to him. "I should have just kept giving you detentions, you know. Just for fun."

"Or you could have just invited me up," he said.

" _Lame_." She threw an arm around him and gathered him into a short, fierce hug. "Miss Schnee should be up in just a moment, then we can get down to business. So – how's Beacon? Any detentions yet?"

"Everyone just assumes…" he grumbled. "I've stayed out of – ah, well, I've avoided detention, for sure." And he'd rather keep it that way. He could probably survive detention with Oobleck, but not Port.

Never Port.

"Trouble? Do tell," she said. "I heard about the docks. Anything else?"

"Giant robot," he said simply.

"Should I blame Ironwood?"

"I'd rather you didn't." Artorias turned to the voice. A woman in Atlas military uniform (but, to Artorias' amusement, without shoes) stepped out of the elevator, one eyebrow raised. "Weiss tells me you were defeated quite soundly by a little girl," said Winter. Out of the corner of his eye, Artorias saw June raise an eyebrow of her own.

"Pfft. Exaggeration," Artorias said, waving a hand loosely. "And in my defence, she fought with a parasol."

"I don't see how that's in your favour."

"Anyone who fights with a parasol is automatically about ten times more badass."

"Perhaps you should try it then," she said with a vicious smile. "I think you could use the boost."

Artorias opened his mouth to speak, then paused, holding up a finger as he thought it through. "I'll be sure to give it a go," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

June stepped in. "You've both been briefed, correct?"

Artorias nodded, as did Winter.

"I understand you're going to be questioning Team Kitetail. Try not to turn it into too much of an interrogation," she said. Artorias, not for the first time, found himself impressed by the sudden shift from June, laidback mentor, to Professor June, Headmistress of Shade.

Winter nodded. "How much have they told you, Professor?"

"I've been occupied by the civilian refugees. I've talked with them, but they've only given me a brief explanation. And I suppose you'd want to hear it all straight from the source anyway."

"Of course. You're acquainted with them, correct?" Winter asked, addressing Artorias.

"Yup."

"I'll let you lead the debriefing, then. Is there anything else, Professor?"

June shook her head. "That's all. Good luck."

Artorias followed Winter to the elevator, waving over his shoulder to June as he left. She returned the gesture as the doors shut.

"I suppose I should apologise properly," Winter said, as the elevator began its descent.

"For what?"

"For my advice."

"Oh, you're one of those 'it's not a proper apology unless it's in person' people?" Artorias snorted.

"It's common courtesy."

"Don't worry about it. It's in the past," he waved it off. "You helped, just… differently."

"Of course," she said. "And I hear you got together with someone else?"

"You heard it from me," he said, rolling his eyes. "Being formal is all well and good, but seriously? That's just pretentious."

"The point stands."

"Yeah, Quelana and I were an item. We broke up just before the Festival."

"Oh." She looked down, composing herself, then back up, her face an image of polite, but sincere sympathy. "I'm sorry."

"We're on good terms. It's fine."

Their breakup had been a mutual agreement. They'd gotten in one of those deep and meaningful discussions about the future – the 'where do you see us in five years' kinda thing.

Artorias had joked about how Hunters didn't usually live very long, and how he could easily see himself in a ditch somewhere.

She'd laughed pleasantly, then berated him, worried his cynicism would rub off on her younger sisters.

But when they'd really talked, they'd found themselves at a disagreement. After a few years of work, Quelana planned on settling down in some calm backwater like Izalith, or like Patch, where she could still protect people, but live a mostly quiet life. He'd never considered that option – and when she'd brought it up, he'd decided he didn't want it. He wanted to live from day to day, travelling between towns in the middle of nowhere, where people weren't always sure they'd live to see the next dawn.

He didn't want to know what tomorrow would bring.

She'd said he might be right about the 'dead in a ditch' thing. And she hadn't been able to change his mind, and he hadn't even wanted to change hers, and so they'd decided to break up. They were on good terms, or at least he thought they were, but it had still hurt. Heading to Vale had been a good distraction.

Seeing her again had brought it back fresh.

Winter broke the silence. "I can't say I'm terribly familiar with Team Kitetail."

The elevator opened, and the two stepped out, the wolf taking the lead, heading towards the dormitories. "You didn't read the report?"

"We don't have reports on _everybody,_ Artorias."

Artorias winked and tapped the side of his nose. "Classified, of course," he joked. "Team Q-Q-T-L. Quelaag and Quelaan Acribus, Kirk Thorn, and Eingyi Labern. Quelaan dropped out around the start of the year to recover from an injury, so _technically_ she's not on the team anymore. She and her twin sister are spider faunus. Trust me, you'll see."

"Any relation to Quelana?"

"She's their older sister," he explained, as they reached the dormitory block.

Shade was laid out much the same as Beacon – all the academies were built around the same time, and designed by the same people, after all. But they'd drawn on each kingdom's nearby natural resources to do it – the CCT tower was built using long-lasting, imported materials from across the world, but the other buildings were made from locally sourced sandstone. The walls had a ruddy orange hue to them that Beacon lacked.

Artorias preferred it. It felt homely.

"Eingyi's kinda annoying. Pretty sure he's got a crush on Quelaan, actually. He's _really_ clingy. Kirk's alright though. He's a bit vulgar, sure, but I like him."

She nodded. "Did you ever meet… did Ozpin tell you?"

"Anastacia? Yeah. Ana – and I mean Quelana, not Anastacia, mind you – pointed her out once, but we never actually spoke. I mean, she can't, but I mean we never properly met or anything. Anyway, aside from the mute thing, there didn't seem to be anything odd about her. Oh, this is their room." He knocked on Team Kitetail's door.

"It's open, come in," came the faint voice.

He pushed the door open. The room had only one occupant – Quelaan. In her own unique way, she was lying down. Conventional chairs and beds weren't made for half-spiders, after all, so instead she rested the spider half of her body on the ground, splaying her legs around her, and instead of a bed she had a desk with a pillow on it, at the perfect height to lean on.

As someone who slept in class regularly, Artorias knew very well the comfort of a desk.

"Oh, hey Art," Quelaan croaked tiredly. _Was she injured? June didn't mention anything._

Artorias rushed to her side. "Were you hurt? You alright?"

He threw an arm around her, squeezing her arm through her pale green shirt in a gesture of comfort."

"It's not good," she said quietly. "Took a nasty hit in the battle, reopened a-"

"She's fine."

Artorias looked up. Winter stood awkwardly in the corner as Quelaag, the other spider twin, made her way into the dorm, slumping down next to her own pillow-desk-bed-thing.

A man with messy dark hair and slanted eyes followed behind her.

"Sorry," he said to Quelaan. "Tried to stop her. You're no fun today, Quelaag."

"I'd hardly call that trying," Quelaag said dryly.

"Bet I had you scared for a second though, huh?" Quelaan laughed, pushing Artorias away. He stumbled, not expecting the force.

"You're a regular girl who cried wolf, Quelaan."

"Sorry for intruding," Winter said. "I'm Winter." If she was shocked at the faunus' appearances, it didn't show.

"Wolfy mentioned you. You were on the Fang thing at the last tournament, right? I'm Quelaan, that's my boring sister Quelaag, and this idiot's Kirk," Quelaan said. Winter raised an eyebrow to the wolf.

He shrugged. He'd spent time with the twins when Quelana had brought him to Izalith, and he'd bonded with them. He liked to think that they saw him as a mentor, full of interesting stories and sage advice.

Not a lame mentor, though. A cool mentor. Like June in a good mood.

"Where's Eingyi?" he asked.

"He was getting overbearing," Quelaan said. "We sent him on a little… errand."

"Anything good?"

Quelaan looked to her sister questioningly. Quelaag sighed. "Nothing too amusing. I told him to ask Professor Brim if we could do anything for extra credit."

"Ouch," said Artorias. Logan Brim could either be scathingly curt or frustratingly long-winded, depending on the topic.

"So, Wolfy," Quelaan said. "Why're you back? And why is Winter here? Not that you're not welcome or anything. Just curious."

"Well," said Artorias. "We've heard some odd stories about Izalith. Ozpin gave me leave from class to check you were alright."

"And how many of those odd stories are true, I suppose?" said Quelaag.

"Indeed," said Winter.

Quelaan grinned evilly. "I'm sure Eingyi'd be _happy_ to chew your ear off, Wolfy. I could call-"

"Whatever you three can tell us is fine, thanks," he said hurriedly, glancing at Winter in a silent message to agree. She nodded uncertainly.

Kirk made his way over to the room's lone desk, grabbing a chair and spinning it around to sit. "Story time with Kirk, then," he said. "Gather round, children."

Artorias showed him his middle finger, but moved over to sit on one of the beds. Winter stood in the corner, arms clasped behind her back.

"Right, so the attack-"

"Not going to start with a more traditional opening? I hear 'once upon a time' is very popular these days," Quelaan cut in, smirking.

"Shut it. Once upon a time – happy, now? Once upon a time, there was a town called Izalith, and it was a pretty cool place. Then, one day, at sort-of-ish noon, a bunch of Grimm attacked. We were at the girls' place, then we hear the alarm bell going crazy. So, we all rush outside, Grimm are coming down in droves from the north, it looked pretty shit. Quelaan calls for evac ships from Shade, then we all go to establish a safe zone around the main square."

"You forgot the part where the Howlers came around the corner and you screamed like a little girl," Quelaan teased.

"That was Eingyi."

"If you say so."

Kirk's face grew darker. "It got pretty bad for a while there. Lautrec and I left to look for survivors. Everyone else held the square to wait for evac."

"Lautrec?" Artorias asked.

"The huntsman you and Quelana beat up," Quelaag reminded him.

"That was the day we got drunk, right? Like, _super_ -drunk."

"It was the day you got drunk," she confirmed, looking thoroughly amused.

"Eh, he had it coming to him," Artorias dismissed, not entirely untruthfully. They'd overreacted, perhaps, but creepy-huntsman-Lautrec wasn't the nicest fellow.

"Sounds interesting," Winter smirked, leaning in. "What happened?"

"Bit of a non-story, really – hell, I couldn't even remember his name. He was just the creepy huntsman guy to me. We got drunk, he hit on Ana, she beat him up, I helped, we drank some more. End of story."

"And big sis swore off drinking the next morning," Quelaan quipped.

"Didn't last long."

"Creepy or not, he was good at his job," Kirk cut them off. "Beat the hell outta the Grimm. We got a few people out of some tight spots and pointed them towards the evac point – then we ran into this weird knight guy _._ There he was, kneeling on the side of the road, Grimm all around him. Weren't attacking him or anything, just sniffing about, keeping watch or whatever. When they saw us, they went crazy, but I mean, I'm a total badass-"

"You screamed, Kirk."

"I'm a total badass," he repeated, scowling at Quelaan, "and Lautrec's pretty good too, so the Grimm were easy enough. The weird guy, though?" Kirk shook his head.

"What did he look like? How did he fight?" Winter asked.

"He was in full armour; a helmet too, we couldn't see his face. Black armour, pretty old, worn down, heavy – but it looked like it was some quality shit, before it got old. I'd say he was a little taller than you, Artorias. He fought with a sword in his right hand." Kirk pulled out his own sword, covered in wicked barbs. "A little longer than this – less spiky, of course. And with a bigger crossguard. Didn't look like it had any mechanical parts to it, but I was – ah, well, fine, I was kinda pants-pissing scared, so I might have missed something. Besides, I was looking at his other weapon. Not an innuendo, by the way." He shuddered.

"I'd call it a sword, but it was _huge._ Like, _really fucking big_. Probably longer than he was tall. The blade wasn't sharp – it was jagged, like lump of rock, really. A _big_ rock. It might have been metal, I guess, but if it was, the blacksmith must have been having a seizure the whole time he was forging the fucker. Basically, if it didn't have a normal-enough handle, I'd have thought he'd just picked up a funny-ass rock."

"What, like Grant?"

"Yeah, like that. But scarier, and less hammer-ish. Looked like it had burn dust all over it, too. Damn thing glowed red when he swung it. And the bastard was swinging it about with only his left hand." He shook his head. "I took a hit from it, got knocked against a wall, got knocked out. Dunno what happened, but when I came 'round, I was on a Bullhead back to Shade."

"I saw him too," Quelaan said. "Quelaag went out looking for you once the ships arrived. She carried you onto the ship, then Lautrec came racing in behind, clutching a bleeding arm. That's when I saw him – the knight, he came charging around a corner after Lautrec. We barely got off the ground before he reached us."

"What happened to Lautrec?" Artorias asked.

"I don't know," said Quelaag. "He was on the same Bullhead as us, but he disappeared as soon as we landed. I can't really blame him. It was a mess back there."

"Wasn't he injured?"

"Yeah. I guess he had more important shit to do than get it patched up," Kirk shrugged. "He seems pretty tough. He's probably fine."

Artorias shared a glance with Winter. Lautrec could be important.

"So… random question – do you know what happened to Anastacia?" Artorias asked. Winter visibly suppressed a snort, amused by his lack of subtlety.

Quelaan shrugged. "No idea. I didn't see her on the Bullhead, but then again, she may have been on a different one."

"The mute blonde girl, right?" Kirk asked. "I didn't see her when Lautrec and I were searching the town, either. Or at least, I don't think I did. Can't say I was paying much attention to _who_ we were rescuing."

"She might have escaped early, I guess, but… a lot of people died," said Quelaan. Artorias nodded, understanding her meaning – she might not have made it out alive.

"It could have gone worse," said Quelaag. "Why Anast-"

"We have visitors!?" An insufferably high pitched voice came from the doorway, making Artorias' sensitive wolf ears flatten in irritation. He looked at the source – a spindly man with skin so pale he looked a sickly green stood in the doorway.

"Just leaving, Eingyi," he said, jumping to his feet. "Good to see you're all safe. I'll see you around." he said.

Quelaan mouthed two words to him; _save us._ Artorias wiggled his fingers in a mocking wave as he left, Winter following him out.

"So, what did you make of all that?" she asked.

"We got something, at least," he said. "Lautrec's our big lead."

"It seems that way," she mused. "The innocent never run. And he was injured. Vacuo is disorganised in a lot of ways, but Shade wouldn't turn away a Hunter in need of medical assistance. He's got something to hide."

"Could you check the academies' records?" he asked. "He must have been trained somewhere."

"Which academy would you be referring to?"

"Don't give me that," Artorias deadpanned. "Atlas is great at sticking its nose in other people's business. _All_ the academies."

"I think you overestimate Atlas' power."

"But you can do it, right?"

She grimaced. "It might take a while."

"There you go," grinned Artorias.

"There should be records of each trained Hunter's equipment as well. I'll see if anything matches the knight's weaponry – but I wouldn't count on it."

"'Big fucking sword' isn't that useful, I guess," said Artorias. "I'm gonna head into town this afternoon. Ana told me she's been sorting out the refugees. If Anastacia's down there, Ana would have seen her."

"You're going to have to pick a new nickname, Artorias."

"Can't be bothered," he said.

She pursed her lips. "We'll meet tomorrow morning to go over what we find. Unless there's another lead to chase here, we'll head out to Izalith afterwards and see if this man amongst the Grimm left anything behind."

"Do I get a say in this?"

"Do you have anything to say about it?"

"Well, no," he admitted, "but I'd like the option." Winter began to roll her eyes, but caught herself halfway, settling on an accusing deadpan. They came upon a crossroads – the path splitting between the town and the CCT tower.

"It's… good to see you again, you know."

"Careful, Schnee. That was dangerously close to a compliment."

"It's all you're getting. Good luck, Artorias."

She turned towards the CCT tower, holding one hand up in a farewell salute as she walked away.

"I don't need luck," he grumbled, then set off down the road to the city.

/-/

Artorias sent a short message to Quelana on his scroll – _usual haunt_ – then pushed open the door and stepped into the bar.

It was a dimly lit place. To the left, people crowded around pool tables, drinks half-forgotten in their hands. The booths, on his right, were mostly empty – one was occupied by a team from Shade he recognised, but had never spoken to. The bar itself was tended to by a short, stocky man, with skin tanned brown by the desert sun.

He sat at a booth, content to wait.

Barely a minute passed before someone joined him, but it wasn't Quelana. It was a man with broad shoulders, bald head, and an auburn beard.

"I'm not here to fight," said Artorias.

Smough nodded and sat across from him, putting his drink down on the table. Artorias could smell him from across the table – this definitely wasn't Smough's first drink.

"What do you want?"

"I'm thinking."

Artorias raised a curious eyebrow and reclined in his seat.

"I don't like you," said Smough finally.

"Duh."

Silence again.

"Might wanna work on those social skills."

"Can it, mutt," he growled.

"My point exactly."

Smough sighed, but did not speak.

"Look, come on, you gotta give me something here. You approached me, Smough."

Smough rolled his eyes and drained his glass, then looked Artorias in the eye.

"Why do you want to be a Huntsman?"

The question caught him off guard. "Hmm?"

"You heard me."

Artorias let out a long breath, recalling what he'd told Team Juniper. "I… wanted independence, I guess. Why do you care?"

"That's no answer, mutt. Everyone has independence. Except for children. Well, most."

"Living behind walls," Artorias retorted. "Not enough for me."

Smough snorted. "And why not? Why couldn't you cower behind a wall?"

"Why do you care?"

Smough sighed, but didn't respond.

"Why are you such an ass?" He'd meant to ask again – _why do you care_ – but the new question just slipped out unbidden from the recesses of his mind. Not that it was a _new_ question. It was an old one, long unspoken.

Smough shrugged.

"No," Artorias said, shaking his head. "I don't know how the hell you were raised, but your brother is the best person I've had the honour of meeting. And you-" he let out a frustrated growl, trying to put his anger into words, "-you are _everything_ that he is not." Smough visibly flinched, looking down into his empty glass. "How the fuck did that happen?"

"None of your damn business."

"Don't give me that. You tormented me since the day I set foot in Shade."

"Don't play the victim, wolf," he scoffed. "You watched every step I took."

"Not well enough, it seems."

"She's fine."

"Almost wasn't."

"Congratulations, you got to play the hero – Artorias the Wolf Knight," he mocked. "What – you think things just get better? Because _you_ step in to fix them?"

"So you bully faunus to teach them an oh-so valuable lesson about the real world? Spare me."

"Fine, sure, whatever – I'm a racist. That? Nothing to do with her being a faunus _._ And it was never just you lot, anyway. Ask Octavia, or Eingyi, or Petrus. I guarantee you, they all remember my name. I did it because it _felt good_ , wolf. That's why. Fuck – I lost it. Fine. I went too far. I admit it. But by God, it felt good."

"You're despicable."

"If you say so. But you and me, we're not so different. Just two ears and a shit-ton of self-righteousness."

"Get out of my sight," Artorias glowered, his voice dangerously low.

Smough held his gaze for a few seconds, then stood. "It was real, you know," he said. "Like it or not, I'll remember your name until the end of my days." Then he was gone, and Artorias found himself alone, a copper signet ring in his hands that he couldn't remember removing from his finger.

He shut his eyes, clenched his fist around the ring, and let visions careen against closed eyelids.

A glyph. Amity against the sky. Then Smough.

Then blood.

"Are you alright?"

His eyes shot open. Quelana stood over him, concern written on her face. His throat felt dry.

He fumbled as he slipped the ring back onto the index finger of his right hand. "More-or-less."

"Seems accurate."

He let out a sigh. "Run-in with Smough."

"Hmm," she nodded in understanding. "Whiskey, then?"

He nodded, dragging himself from the booth, and they made their way to the bar, claiming stools to sit on. A brief hand-wave ushered the bartender over, and their drinks followed soon after.

"So – a civil conversation with Smough? Pardon me, but what the hell were you talking about?"

"Civil?"

"This fine establishment seems to be in one piece yet. Unless you did a swift job on the repairs…"

"I'm very good with gaffer tape," he quipped.

"A likely story. What did he want to talk about? Oh, don't say he's your rebound. Gilderoy would be awfully disappointed."

"Very funny," Artorias said dryly. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"Understandable."

He held up his drink. "To ignoring our problems."

"Come now, that's not healthy," she insisted, but clinked her glass against his, and together they drank. The bartender offered a refill.

"How are you?" Artorias said, suddenly acutely aware that he had yet to ask, and that there was a yawning silence to be filled.

"I've certainly been busy," she said.

"Not the question."

She looked up at him.

"I miss you," he murmured, the words tumbling from his tongue unbidden. _Gods – I'm not a lightweight, am I?_

"Let's not go there," Ana said. "Not tonight, at least. The phrase 'dead in a ditch' comes to mind."

"I'm still set on that, by the way."

"You'll move on."

"Have you?"

She seemed caught off guard, but she shook her head, almost imperceptibly. A long breath escaped her. "To eschewing reason," she said, raising her glass.

"That doesn't sound healthy either."

They drank. A refill came.

"And the less said on that, the better, I suspect," she said.

Artorias nodded in agreement. He had too much to worry about to return to a relationship that they both had deemed too foolish to pursue.

"So, as good as it is to see you all again, I'm not just here to check your sisters are okay."

"Hardly surprising. Ozpin doesn't sound like the type to exempt you from classes lightly. What's going on?"

"It's… classified. Have you seen Anastacia Sil since Izalith fell?"

"No."

"Has anybody mentioned seeing her?"

"No."

"Classified business concluded," he said, though without any cheer. Chances were growing slimmer that Anastacia was still alive.

"Is it so classified that you can't tell me anything more?"

"It's so classified that I don't _know_ anything else. Sorry, Ana."

She shrugged and raised her glass. "To Izalith?"

A bitter smile crossed Artorias' face. "To Izalith."


	9. Izalith

Artorias was awakened by a weight settling on his chest. One eye cracked open – a large grey cat was sat there, watching him, her tail flicking idly from side to side.

"What time is it?"

The cat, being unable to understand language, did not respond. Artorias rolled his eyes and reached for his scroll.

It was five in the morning.

"You're worse than Gil," he muttered. Despite his annoyance, he focused his semblance-

_Impatience. Anger. Loneliness._

"Sorry Alvina," he said, ruffling the cat's fur. A quiet purr-

_Annoyance. Love. Comfort._

"I thought so," Artorias smirked. His semblance allowed him to understand what it was animals tried to communicate – but was limited somewhat to the animals' own understanding. They did not communicate through complex language, but through emotion. He'd met a few – mostly housepets – with a basic grasp of language, but for the most part his semblance was restricted to threadbare communication. And it only went one way – if he wanted to talk back (and be understood), it was always through body language or through tone of voice, not through the words themselves.

He still wasn't quite sure whether anybody owned Alvina. The grey cat had just showed up at Team Gwyn's window one day, back when they were first years. Apparently, she'd lived at Shade for as long as anybody could remember, but since Artorias had arrived she'd stuck around with him more than most other students, probably because he could understand her better than anyone else.

Alvina purred again – this one a louder, more defined "meow".

_Alarm. Stranger. Curiosity. Distrust._

"You gonna see who it is, or- okay, I probably won't be back again for a few months, bye kitty cat!" Alvina slipped from his hands and darted for the window (which Artorias could have sworn had been closed when he'd come back from the bar), leaping into a bush a few stories below. Artorias watched her scramble free and take off into the waning night.

Someone knocked at his door – presumably whoever it was that Alvina had heard.

"It's five in the morning," he said, throwing it open.

Winter stood there, one eyebrow raised. "Good to know you can read a clock," she said.

"I hope you're not just here to annoy me," he said, though he stood aside to allow her entry.

"I want to go over our findings."

"It's five in the morning," he said again.

"So it is." Winter's eyes narrowed, and she sniffed suspiciously. "You're not hungover, are you?"

"I'd like to think that I don't get hungover – only irritable."

"Are you irritable?"

"It's five in the morning," he repeated.

"Then you're fine," she said, though her trademark vicious smile said she didn't particularly care if he was anything else. "Did you find anything in town? You _did_ talk to Quelana, didn't you?"

"…It's five in the morning."

"If we're heading to Izalith today, I'd rather we leave early."

"Early is a relative term."

"Early is when I say it is," she said. "Did you talk to Quelana?"

"Do you really think I'd drink alone?"

"Depends," she said, "on why you're drinking."

"I talked to her," he said. "Nothing on Anastacia. How about the academy records?"

She shook her head. "Nothing – unless he was going by an alias. Do you know what kind of weapon he uses?"

Artorias thought back to their brawl. "Curved swords. Like, super-curved, not regular-curved like yours. Don't think they were mechashift, but hey, I was drunk."

"Very helpful," she said dryly. "I'll keep that in mind, but it won't be easy to confirm anything on weapons alone. Especially ones so… basic." She let out a sigh. "I'll meet you at the ship. You've got half an hour; don't be late."

"Late is a relative term."

"Late is when I say it is," she said, walking out the door and disappearing into the hallway.

/-/

Artorias stepped into the cockpit, humming quietly to himself. Winter's ship – as he'd expected – was very sparse. The main compartment was lined with storage rooms full of disabled Atlesian robots. One locked door, he assumed, lead to Winter's personal quarters, leaving only the boarding ramp and the cockpit.

If her narrowed eyes and tense jawline were any indication, Winter was annoyed by his incessant humming. That, of course, was his goal.

"So…" he said, "you don't have a butler stowed away somewhere?"

She sighed. "No."

"A cook?"

"There's no kitchen."

"Of course, who am I kidding – it'd be a chef."

"There's no chef."

"How about a pilot?"

"I'm the pilot."

"Yeah, but are you? I mean, did you have to fire someone else so you could fly the ship?"

"Perhaps I should hire you," she said, arching an elegant eyebrow.

"No thanks. I'd be in a dust mine before I could say 'minimum wage'," Artorias joked.

Her face fell, and she remained silent for a time. "We're close," she said at last.

Artorias looked out the observation window. On the horizon, he saw Izalith, its streets paved with red sandstone winding between buildings of brick and timber. Artorias recalled his first visit – the air had shimmered with the heat, giving the town an ethereal atmosphere, as though it was hardly there. Now, the air was still. But the town wasn't there – not properly. Its people had left, or been killed.

A shame, really. Izalith had been a dream in the summer.

As they came closer, the edge of the desert came over the horizon. To the west, mountains; to the north, forests. Then, closer still, the damage to the town became more apparent. Grimm were rather inconsistent after an attack. Sometimes, they stick around to consume the fallen, to destroy humanity's creations. But sometimes, they'd move on as quickly as they'd come.

It seemed that they'd taken at least some time out of their busy schedules to ruin Izalith. Some buildings were mercifully spared, but the majority had been damaged, ranging anywhere from having only some windows shattered, to being reduced to piles of rubble.

"I'll open the hatch for you," said Winter. "We'll fly over once before landing – keep an eye out for Grimm."

"Or our large-weaponed friend," he said. "I'm on it."

He tapped the doorframe as he exited the cockpit, making his way to the boarding hatch. It opened for him, though the ramp did not extend. Artorias grabbed a handhold and leaned out to look down over the town.

For a while, it seemed eerily empty. He'd expected to see half-eaten bodies lying abandoned in the streets, some stray Grimm that had yet to move on – perhaps even looters who had come to grow rich from others' suffering. But he saw none of those things.

Not for a while, at least. When the ship came to pass over the main square, he spotted a pile of bodies around the side of the town hall. But not any evidence as to who put them there – or why.

He made a mental note of it and maintained his vigil.

As they approached the northern edge of the town, Artorias spied some Grimm – Howlers, by the look of it, as common to Vacuo as Beowolves were to Vale. Howlers were eerie, spindly creatures that laughed and looked like hyenas, but the largest could grow to be taller than a man. Dangerous in numbers, but otherwise easy prey.

The pack he spotted numbered a little under two dozen – not enough to pose much of a problem even if he'd been alone.

He turned away as they flew clear of the town and returned to Winter.

"Report," she said. He rolled his eyes.

"Not even a please. Grimm in the north, manageable. Bodies have been piled up in the main square – might have been looters, but there's no other sign of them."

She nodded. "We'll land to the north, clear out the Grimm, then make our way towards the middle of town."

"Do I-"

"Only if you have anything to say," she said, manoeuvring the ship over to a clear space for landing.

He smiled a little, and drummed his fingers against the wall. "Just wanted the option," he said.

She was silent for a few seconds, focusing on landing the ship. As the landing gear locked, the ship shuddered light, and Winter let out a sigh. "You're insufferable," she said. She stood and pushed past him.

"I know," he teased, following her down the boarding ramp. "But I have to suffer myself every single day. How do you think I feel?"

"I tend to severely dislike people like you, you know."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He adopted a light-hearted tone in saying it, but it was a legitimate question – he'd felt a shift in her tone, a certain gravitas to her cadence that didn't quite suit banter.

"People who struggle to take things seriously."

"I make light of things. It's what I do," he shrugged. "If I spent all my time taking things seriously, I'd have hair so white I'd be mistaken for a Schnee."

"Well, you already have grey hair."

"Silver hair," he corrected. "I just don't see the point of worrying about things," he said. They rounded a corner to find the pack of Howlers staring them down. "Unless those things have glowing red eyes and bone-armour. And even then… Plan?"

"Boost me. You attack from the front; I'll flank from behind."

He smiled gently, flexing the fingers of his gauntleted left hand. "You got it."

A small push with his aura sent the thick metal plates of the gauntlet sliding apart rapidly, unfolding and expanding piece by piece until he wore no gauntlet at all, but instead held a large shield, thin but sturdy.

He'd kept it a secret at Beacon – a hidden advantage to save for the tournament. But now he was free to use it – unless Winter told Weiss about it. But then, it wasn't like Winter hadn't already known.

He bent his knees, held the shield above him, and then the moment he felt a weight settle on it he pushed upwards with all his strength. For a moment, he considered ditching the shield for his dagger, his usual style for fighting Grimm, but taken by whim he decided to stick with sword and shield.

He dashed forwards, meeting the Howlers head on. The first slammed into his shield, and he ducked into it, throwing it behind him bodily. His sword sang upwards, slicing the second's head off in a single blow. His left arm came back into position and the bottom of the shield braced against the dirt, catching the biting strikes of two more on its surface before he thrust forwards, impaling one, and cutting outwards to knock aside the next. A brief respite afforded him the opportunity to finish off the first Howler, only just recovering from where it had landed behind him.

With a laughing howl of his own, he charged deeper into the fray, blade whistling through the air again and again to cut down the Grimm, using his shield as a bludgeoning tool almost as much as a defensive one. Not far off, he saw Winter doing very much the same, carving a path through the Howlers like they were but paper.

It was a short, bloody affair, lasting five minutes at most, ending with the two Hunters standing strong and the Grimm disintegrating around them.

"That went well," he mused, dusting himself off.

"A good exercise," she agreed, sheathing her sabre and setting off towards the middle of town again. Artorias rolled his eyes.

"You wouldn't mind _not_ mentioning my shield to Weiss, would you? I'm keeping it under wraps for the tournament."

"I won't make promises," she grinned. "I'm rather hoping to see her succeed."

"And not me? Ouch," he laughed. "Team Gwyn had a real chance at the last tournament, you know."

"I remember," she assured him. "If you make it to the one-v-ones again, who do you plan to send?"

"Gil wants to see what the other combatants can do first," he said. "We sent Ciaran last time, but Havel beat her in the first fight." It had been a long, drawn out fight – Ciaran could barely chip at Havel's aura, but she'd been too agile for Havel to land many blows of his own.

"Mr Rockwell isn't in the tournament this year, correct?"

"Haven't you read his file?"

"We don't have a file on him, Artorias. We don't have files on most people."

"But you do have one on me, right? Artorias Nym, the Wolf Knight, an overall decent guy, instrumental in saving Amity."

"Involved in disrupting a terrorist plot to destroy Amity Colosseum," she corrected. "While I agree it would have been difficult without your assistance, Atlas records are worded a little more objectively. And there's none of that 'Wolf Knight' nonsense, either."

"Rude," he muttered. "Eh, whatever. What else does my file say about me?"

"You know this is classified, don't you?"

"Is it anything I wouldn't already know? Do I have a secret half-brother who rules a criminal empire or something?"

"I'll admit, I haven't read it since I sent it in."

"You wrote my file?" he asked.

"It was part of my report for the Quill conspiracy," she said. "I'm… sorry if you consider that a breach of trust. I have my orders."

"Pfft. I'm flattered," he said, though not entirely truthfully. He couldn't quite place his finger on it – he didn't particularly mind, but it didn't feel terribly right, either. "Nothing too condemning in there, I hope?"

"We received baby photos from your mother as part of the background check."

"Very funny," he said. But Winter only looked at him, a deadly smile plastered on her face. "You're not serious, are you?"

"Classified."

They passed through narrow sandstone streets, some a little obstructed by debris from the damaged buildings, but for the most part still clear. At length, they reached the main square. Across from them sat the town hall, one of the few built from imported materials; greenish-grey brick. In its shadow was the pile of bodies, its peak a little higher than Artorias was tall.

"I see what you mean," Winter said.

Artorias nodded dumbly. They approached the bodies.

Artorias felt the hairs rising on the back of his neck, and his ears twitched at the slightest sound – even their own boots striking the stone. Something felt very wrong. Perhaps he was just jumpy – they'd fallen quiet during their walk, and the empty streets had somehow become very oppressive. And besides – corpses were hardly a pleasant sight under any circumstance.

As they came closer, he spotted a shield leaning against the town hall's wall – a rectangular wooden shield embossed with steel and with the effigy of an eagle painted on its surface.

The mangled bodies grew in detail. Given that it had been days since the attack, they reeked horribly, the rot of death setting in. Flies flew around them, their incessant buzzing doing little to stave of Artorias' feeling of dread. But whoever had piled them up obviously held some respect for the slain – their eyes were all closed in their bloated faces.

A nasal voice he didn't recognise spoke. "Thirty-three and a half."

Artorias whirled around in surprise, cocking his fist back to face the stranger. But the man who spoke held his hands up warily to show he was unarmed, though there was a spear on his back. "Careful, friends. I'm not looking for a fight."

Artorias was struck with the thought that the bald man in front of him was rather angular: an angular jaw, angular brow, angular narrow eyes that slanted towards an angular nose.

"Sorry," Artorias said, lowering his fist. "Just… a little on edge."

"Well, I don't blame you," said the angular man. "Let's let bygones be bygones, shall we?"

Artorias nodded. "Are you a Huntsman?" Winter asked, gesturing to the spear on his back, and to the shield leaning against the wall.

"Me? Heavens, no – well, actually, I suppose I could be. I'm whatever I need to be. Huntsman, merchant, beggar… gravedigger." He gestured into the building to the pile of corpses. "Digging would take too long for that lot, though. Thought I'd go for a pyre; a funeral fit for a Lord."

Artorias tilted his head. "You're a religious man?"

The man laughed. "Gods, no. Yourselves?"

"No," said Winter curtly.

"Familiar, but not a believer," Artorias said.

"Ah, a man after my own heart. I have a certain fascination with religion. Lords, Brothers, Blood – I don't care what faith it's from. It's all very intriguing. Can't stand their worshippers though, I tell you what. Glad there aren't many of them left." He clapped his hands together. "Just gotta burn this lot and I can head home. You got any burn dust?"

Artorias reached into his pouch for a red crystal. "Not much. What did you mean by 'thirty-three and a half'?"

The angular man shook his head and waved a dismissive hand. "Gonna need powdered dust, not crystal," he said.

"I have a little," Winter said, "but I doubt it'd be enough."

"Hmm. A shame. Well, I suppose it could be thirty-four. Depends on if you count the all shrivelled-up woman as half, or as a full person. Actually, you know what? I'm gonna stick with thirty-four. Show of respect and all that."

"And you are?"

"Thirty-five, at this rate. Not that it's _particularly_ dangerous around here anymore, but I'd rather be home by nightfall. Any idea where to find some more dust in this place? I mean, could go with some sticks and a bit of the old-fashioned friction, but…"

"Wait," Artorias said. "The shrivelled-up one?"

"Exactly. The shrivelled-up one. Skins all dry, not very pretty."

"That doesn't sound much like a Grimm," Winter said.

"Doesn't look like it either. Wound on her throat – clean kill with a clean blade." Artorias frowned; Grimm claws were jagged and serrated to draw out the pain, create negative emotions, and attract more Grimm.

"What did she look like?"

"Dunno. Never saw her living, and now she's all…" he grimaced in disgust, "you know. What's it to you?"

Artorias and Winter shared a glance. "Mind if we take a look at her?"

The angular man shrugged. "Tell you what, though, she's right at the bottom – it's gonna be a struggle to get her out from under there. I'll give you a hand if you help me find some burn dust afterwards."

"Deal," said Artorias.

Thirty-five clapped his hands and turned to walk towards the corpse pile. "So," he said, grabbing an arm and unceremoniously dragging a man from the top, "what's your favourite religion?"

"Hmm?"

"Rather, which one interests you most? Everyone has their own perspective on such things, I find – and I'm interested in all of them."

"The perspectives or the religions?" Artorias asked.

"Both," he said, grabbing the arms of a rather obese headless body and motioning for Artorias to help with the legs.

"I'm most familiar with the Lords," he said, referring to the stories surrounding the belief that the kingdoms were built by the wielders of immensely powerful souls – the Lords – except for Mantle, for which the religion offered no explanation. "Not something I really think about, though."

"Fair enough, fair enough," Thirty-five mused. "Well then, given our current occupation – what's your take on the death of sunlight?" Artorias thought back to the story, in which the Lord of Sunlight was betrayed and killed by the other Lords.

"I think it's nonsense," Winter cut in. "I don't much see the point of a religion if the gods can die."

"Except for the immortal one," said Thirty-five, looking distastefully at a splash of rancid blood on his arm. "That one's undying by definition." He sighed and tore a relatively clean scrap of fabric from the clothes of the dead, wiping away the blood with it. "Let's say there were gods, capable of impacting our world – would you rather have them mortal, or immortal?"

"A fair question," Artorias said. "But the Lords have both. I'd rather have none."

"Fair, but boring," Thirty-five scoffed. "Well then, take the Brothers. You're familiar, yes? Two brothers, one makes the world, one makes some Grimm, they both make us – then they piss off and don't do anything ever again. See, it might be true. Might not be. But the thing is, it doesn't matter, because even if they do exist, they don't _do_ anything, not anymore. Them's the kinda gods I wouldn't mind believing in. They don't punish, they don't reward, they don't _care_. Doesn't matter if they exist or not."

"If I had a drink, I think I'd drink to that."

"Good news," laughed Thirty-five, "Grimm aren't alcoholics. Should still be something in the inn. Hey, maybe I could use that instead of dust." He shrugged and got back to work digging through the bodies.

After a few minutes, he said, "Aha!" reached down, and grabbed a decrepit left arm. "Found her. C'mon, get the other hand now."

They dragged the woman from the bottom of the pile. And Thirty-five was right – her skin was dry and wrinkled, browned like leather, clinging to her bones. Her eyes were sunken pits in her face, her pale, brittle hair hanging from her scalp as though it could fall from it at any moment. Dried blood full of spidery cracks flaked away from her neck at every movement, revealing more and more of a long, thin wound.

Even in such a state, she looked familiar, though Artorias considered that he might just be seeing what he expected to see. With a sigh, he crouched down and forced her mouth open.

The shrunken, twisted black stub in her mouth confirmed his suspicion. She had no tongue.

"Winter," he motioned for her to look too.

"Who was she?" asked Thirty-five.

"Somewhere between one and thirty-four, I'd imagine," said Winter, kneeling next to the body.

"You're a barrel full of laughs, aren't you? Well then – given as I ever-so-graciously offered my assistance digging her out of the pile, why don't you give me a hand giving these sorry fools a drink?"

"Hmm?"

"Dousing them with alcohol, I mean. You can douse yourself too, if you want – I won't judge."

"We'll pass on that one," Winter said, giving Artorias a meaningful look. He pouted, but couldn't hold the expression for long and broke into a half-hearted laugh. "But we'll help."

"Excellent." Thirty-five clapped his hands again. "I'll just grab the booze, then."

Artorias pointed to a wooden building across the square. "Tavern's there. We'll pile everyone back on, then come and help."

"Oh, I'm well aware," Thirty-five said. "Shan't be long, then."

As he headed off, Winter turned to Artorias. "Do you think it's Anastacia?"

"Yup."

"It looks like she's been dead for years," she said, "but she obviously wasn't buried. And the wound looks recent."

Artorias threw a corpse back onto the pile. "What do you think killed her?"

"Someone slit her throat."

"Obviously. But that doesn't explain the… everything else."

"I don't know either," Winter admitted. She stood and, with a grimace, moved over to a body to threw it back on the pile. "It's… unsettling, I admit. We only speak of this to Professor June, Professor Ozpin, and General Ironwood. Understand?"

"Hey, I get it. Secrecy and all that, panic draws Grimm, blah blah. Reckon there's anything else in town?" He heaved another body onto the pile.

"You were the one looking out, Artorias."

"I mean, I didn't see anything, but we were pretty high up, you know?"

She nodded. "We'll ask our new friend if he's seen anything out of the ordinary, I suppose."

"How long do you think he's been here?"

"Two, maybe three days. He must have searched the town quite thoroughly to find all the bodies."

"That I did," Thirty-five said. Artorias jumped in surprise – the angular man moved incredibly quietly. "Dreary place, I tell you what."

"Did you notice anything odd?" Winter asked.

"Not at all," he said. "I mean, aside from old shrivelled over there." He put the bottles on the ground gingerly and helped Artorias throw the last body onto the pile. "You want to keep looking at her, or should we throw her on?"

Artorias raised an eyebrow to Winter.

"Burn her," she said.

"Your call," said Thirty-five. "Looks like we'll need more liquor – if one of you wouldn't mind starting to pour, we'll grab some more."

Winter nodded and reached down, grabbing a bottle of rum and eyeing it distastefully.

"Well then, it's just you and me, friend," said Thirty-five. He slung an arm around Artorias' shoulder as they walked. "What say-"

"Don't get him drunk," Winter ordered, opening the bottle and pouring it over the corpses.

"Fine, fine," Thirty-five said, steering Artorias away.

"So," said Artorias, as they made their way across the square, "what's your real name?"

"I put great value on my name, you know," he said. "Call me trusty, call me friend, call me thirty-five, if you want, but if I told you my real name, I think I'd have to kill you."

"You're welcome to try."

"Trust me, if I were to try, it wouldn't be with an Atlas Specialist around. I'm a lot of things, but I'm not an idiot."

They stepped through the open door, which hung listlessly on its hinges, the lock broken.

"What about your name, Wolf?"

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."

"I really don't want to kill you right now. I've had a long few days, you know?"

"Fair, fair. I'm Artorias." He walked behind the bar and started grabbing bottles – whiskey, rum – there was even some Mantle vodka.

"Mind if I ask why you're here?"

"One of life's great mysteries, isn't it?"

"Religious discussion is over, friend," Thirty-five said, "but I'll respect your privacy if you respect mine."

They made their way back over to the pile, their arms full of bottles. They clanked loudly as they put them on the ground, then grabbing one each to pour over the corpses. Working in silence for a few minutes, the stench of rot and decay was soon overtaken by the acrid smell of alcohol as it soaked into the skin and clothes of the deceased.

Artorias pulled out a red crystal from his pouch. "You want to do the honours?"

"A strange honour," said Winter. Thirty-five nodded in agreement, but took the crystal anyway. He closed his narrow eyes and focused, and the crystal began to glow. He threw it on the pile.

The flames caught quickly.


	10. Trust

Artorias flashed his scroll to the security guard as he passed through the gate, the document declaring that he was, legally speaking, a Huntsman already brought up on-screen. He’d been ‘randomly selected’ for a security screening many times before at the Vale airdock on his return trips from Flare. At the time, he’d been considered an ‘armed civilian’ by the law, making it harder to weasel his way out of it.

The security guard nodded and let him through. He looked back as he walked – a few people had been taken aside for a security screening, mostly faunus. _Welcome to Vale_ , he thought, _truly a bastion of equality._

He shook his head and put it out of his mind as he made his way to the Beacon terminal.

A familiar head of bright blonde hair caught his eye. And, apparently, he caught her eye too, for the girl strode purposefully through the thinning crowd towards him. “Wolfy!” Ciaran called as she came closer.

“Yo.”

“How are they? Was anyone hurt?”

“Quelaan nearly gave me a heart attack, but they’re fine.”

“And you didn’t get detention?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?”

“That’s what I said, oh ye of little faith. So, what are you doing in the city, C? Anything interesting?”

She held up a slip of paper, with a list of items scrawled all over it – mostly just different kinds of dust, but one entry at the bottom caught his eye.

“Bullet casings?”

She grinned proudly. “I bought a gun.”

“Wait, you didn’t modify your Tracers?”

“Nope.”

“What kind of Huntress are you if your weapons don’t even change form?”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Sure, it’s not a gun, but at least it’s got that mechanical goodness,” he said, mockingly cradling his gauntlet.

“The gun part is far more important,” Ciaran argued. “But if you’re happy being a second-class Huntsman…”

“I certainly hope I haven’t given the impression I try to be anything but.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Are you coming with?”

“Nah,” he said. “I’d better talk to the rest of the team,” he lied. He planned instead to report directly to Ozpin – but that, of course, was all very hush.

“I think if you were in my shoes, you’d call that lame,” Ciaran pointed out.

“I’d also have very sore feet,” he joked, stepping past her and holding up a hand in farewell. “I’ll catch you later, C.”

“Artorias,” she called, “just… watch what you say, alright?”

He turned back to her. “What happened?”

She wore a pained expression, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Talk to Gil first. Trust me on this.”

He nodded slowly, and Ciaran turned on her heel and set off into Vale.

/-/

Gough rubbed his eyes, squinting at the words scrawled on the page, his tired eyes skipping over words and forcing him to go back. It was an article over a decade old from a news outlet in Vacuo, describing a murder in some backwater village south of Shade.

He’d never felt the need to learn more about the man who’d killed his parents, and as far as he knew, neither had Smough. But, somewhere between then and now, the brothers had drifted apart. He’d known that for a long time, but only recently had it sunk in. And he wanted to know why it had happened. He wanted to know what had happened to his brother, to make him who he was now.

He rubbed his eyes again, glancing to his left. Blake, doing research of her own, had collapsed from exhaustion a few hours back. He didn’t have the heart to wake her up, though he was sure she’d want him to. It was for her own good, he thought.

Realising that he was getting distracted, he turned back to the article.

/-/

“I’m glad you’re back, Mr Nym. I trust you worked well with Miss Schnee?”

“Wouldn’t have minded a lift back,” Artorias said, taking a seat across from Ozpin. Per General Ironwood’s instructions, Winter had returned directly to Atlas to file a written report. They’d speak in person as soon as an excuse could be found to send Winter to Vale.

“The pomp and circumstance of having her at Beacon would have drawn too much attention,” Ozpin said. “Do you know the official story for her presence in Vacuo?”

“Can’t say I do.”

“Negotiating a deal with Shade for the SDC,” he said, the shadow of an amused smile on his face.

“I’m not sure I see how that’s funny, Professor.”

“You’re not sure?”

“I don’t.” Perhaps because Shade was so close to the Vacuo dust mine? There was some irony to that, he supposed, but then again, Shade already stocked its armouries with SDC dust due to the higher quality.

Ozpin paused for a second, his eyes glazing over as though considering a matter of great importance. “Well,” he said at last, “I suppose it’s from before your time. Tell me what happened at Izalith.”

Artorias tilted his head quizzically, wondering what Ozpin was talking about, but then sighed and moved on. “Team Kitetail’s story is that they defended the town until help arrived, aided by an older Huntsman named Lautrec, but were beaten back by a warrior who fought alongside the Grimm. Black armour. Longsword in right hand, huge greatsword in the left. Didn’t see him myself, but that’s the gist of it.”

“Do you believe their story?”

Artorias shrugged. “I have no reason not to. We went to Izalith to check for anything out of the ordinary. It seemed like an average Grimm attack – maybe a little more destructive than most.” He shifted in his chair. “We found Anastacia. She wasn’t killed by the Grimm, though. Her throat was cut, and her body looked old, like she’d been dead and buried for years.”

Ozpin frowned and raised an eyebrow. “Clearly that wasn’t the case.”

Artorias nodded. “It might have been the warrior who killed her, but then again, it might not have been. If it was, it’s the only evidence of his existence. But I trust Team Kitetail, either way. They have no reason to lie.”

“And this Lautrec – did he have any insight?”

“We couldn’t find him. Winter… accessed the academy’s records – all of them – to find anything on him, but if he trained at a Hunter academy, he was under a different name.”

“I trust you’ll keep an ear to the ground.” Artorias nodded. “Is there anything else?”

“We met someone in Izalith. He was burning the bodies – out of respect, I suppose. It doesn’t seem likely he was involved, but he seemed very fishy. He refused to give his name, and he always talked in riddles. Thought it was worth bringing up.”

“Any distinguishing features?”

“He had a wooden shield with an eagle painted on it,” Artorias said, “and he used a spear. But he said he didn’t have any Hunter training, so it might be hard to track him down.”

Ozpin steepled his fingers. “I trust you’ll keep this between us, Mr Nym. Thank you for your assistance.”

Artorias took the dismissal and stepped into the elevator. His scroll began to buzz halfway down – an unknown number. He answered it.

“Artorias Nym speaking.”

 _“Are you ready?”_ It was a grainy voice, as though pre-recorded and played back through the mic.

“I’m gonna go with no.”

_“Are you ready for this Saturday night when-”_

“Quelaan?”

The recorded voice kept ranting for a few seconds– now backed by scratchy music – but Artorias clearly heard the girl curse before the recording shut off.

“How’d you change your number?”

 _“Borrowed Eingyi’s scroll,”_ she confessed.

“And by borrowed-”

_“I’m not a thief. All I had to do was ask. Are you back in Vale yet?”_

“Yup. Are you calling just to annoy me?”

 _“Most certainly. You wouldn’t happen to have any other numbers I could try, would you?”_ she asked, putting on her most childlike, innocent voice.

Artorias considered it – there were quite a few people it’d be amusing to see Quelaan pester. He almost gave her Winter’s number, but then thought better of it. An idea struck. “I’ll message one to you afterwards,” he said. “Try not to spam it too much.”

 _“I’ll spam it just enough,”_ she said. The elevator opened, and Artorias stepped out, making his way towards the dorms.

“Have you found a place to stay?”

_“June’s letting me stay with the team for now, but big sis helped me find a little place near the ruined senate building. I’ve re-enrolled for next year, though, so I won’t be there long.”_

“Good,” he said. “How’s Ana doing?”

 _“My, my, Artorias,”_ she crooned. _“Don’t forget-”_

“Just asking,” he said. “No need to be like that.”

_“She’s fine, Arty. Why wouldn’t she be?”_

“Right.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hey, I’ve got to go.”

 _“Keep in touch. And remember to send me that number.”_ The line went dead.

Artorias sighed, almost pocketing the scroll before Quelaan’s reminder sank in. He quickly sent her a number – Yang’s number, to be precise – before stowing it away and opening the dorm.

Except the door was locked.

He sighed again, took his scroll out, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

“Artorias,” Gilderoy acknowledged, not even skipping a beat. He was seated at the desk, pen in one hand, probably scribbling down some asinine homework or something.

“Is there a pile of homework for me, too?”

“Doctor Oobleck was kind enough to not assign you any.”

“I’ll get to work on Port’s, then.”

“You don’t need to lie for my benefit, Artorias.”

“Did he even notice there was a student missing?”

Gilderoy’s hand stopped writing as he thought about it. “It seemed not,” he said.

Artorias walked to his bed, leaning against it. “Where’s Gough?”

“Library.”

“When’s he coming back?”

“Probably not for a while.”

“I hear that’s probably for the best, then. I’m supposed to talk to you first.”

“Are you?”

“Ciaran said so.”

Gilderoy put his pen down and swung the chair around to face him. “She’s probably right,” he said.

“So. What happened?”

“Smough called.”

“Is that odd?”

“Smough called Gough,” Gilderoy clarified. “It was a few nights back. I didn’t hear the conversation, but Gough says he was drunk.”

“Ah,” said Artorias. “I might know something.”

“You saw him?”

“He saw me first. It was… civil. Kind of. But he was drunk then, too. He asked me some pretty weird questions – wanted to know why I want to be a Huntsman.” Artorias tried to recall the details. “Then he accused me of being just like him. I told him to piss off, or something to that extent, anyway.”

“Anything else?”

“I don’t remember. Maybe I said something that really got to him? I dunno.”

Gilderoy nodded. “Whatever happened, it’s gotten Gough down. He’s practically living in the library – I’ve no idea what he’s doing there, but I’m giving him space.”

“Want me to talk to him?”

“No,” Gilderoy said. “Ciaran and I agree we should all just leave him be for now. Although…”

“Hmm?”

“Never mind.” He sighed and ran a hand through his red hair, sweeping it back. “Did Smough seem alright?”

“He was drunk.”

“Of course.” Gilderoy’s mouth formed a thin line. “I’ve been holding off on calling him.”

“You could just never speak to him again. That works.”

“I don’t know why I thought I’d try talking about it with you,” Gilderoy said.

“History shows it’s a bad idea,” Artorias laughed half-heartedly. “Look, I don’t want to argue.”

“No arguments. We won’t go there,” Gilderoy agreed.

/-/

“Forgive me, but you don’t look very well.”

Gough started, realising that he’d been staring listlessly at another news archive. He looked up to the man who spoke – a man with cropped blond hair, and with a red and yellow sun emblazoned on his tabard.

“I admit, I’ve been better,” Gough said, “but I think I know my limits, and I think I have yet to reach them.”

“Leave the poor man alone,” said another – this one with short dark hair, a crooked nose, and a tattered red cape over one shoulder. “Let him work.”

“Forgive my partner too,” said the blond. “He’s not the most sympathetic of people, but he does his best.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” said the man with the red cape, rolling his eyes. “I’ll find us a table. Don’t annoy him too much, or I’ll have to run damage control. Again.” Gough’s watched him as he walked away.

“Do you want to talk about it?” the blond asked.

Gough’s eyes snapped back to him. “I’m sorry if we’ve met, but I don’t recall it.”

“Neither do I, so I suppose we mustn’t have. Solaire of Atlas, second year.” He stuck his hand out, a pleasant smile on his face.

“Gough Iris. Shade, third year.” They shook hands.

“I am quite serious – I don’t mean to intrude, but you look like you need to talk to someone. Or get a good night’s sleep, perhaps.”

“And I don’t mean to offend,” said Gough, “but you’re basically a stranger to me.”

“You’ve yet to say you don’t want to talk.”

Gough sighed. “You’re not wrong.”

“Well then,” said Solaire, “should we perhaps move away from sleeping beauty?” he asked, gesturing to Blake, “or do you think she’ll sleep sound either way?”

“I think she’d be glad to wake up, though I’d rather not make her.”

“Let fate decide, then. If she wakes, she wakes. If she doesn’t, so be it.” Solaire sat down next to Gough. “What’s on your mind, friend?”

“Family,” he said simply. “My brother is… upset with me. Upset with everyone, I think. And I want to know why.”

“I’m afraid I’m no expert on family,” Solaire said. “What’s he like?”

Gough hesitated.

“No matter then. Have you tried asking him?”

“I don’t think he wants to talk to me.”

“Fair enough. So, what’s he like? Sounds to me like he antagonises people?”

The thought flitted through Gough’s mind that he was betraying his brother somehow by speaking ill of him – but then, antagonise was such a nice way to put it. Artorias antagonised people too. It wasn’t a bad thing. Smough just did it in an awful way.

Was thinking ill of his brother as bad as speaking ill?

“Somewhat,” Gough hedged.

“Out of ignorance or out of spite?”

“A bit of both, I think.”

“So he enjoys doing it on purpose, but often does without meaning to anyway?”

And again, Gough found himself at a quandary. He knew that Smough liked holding power over people. But to say it out loud felt like a betrayal.

Gough nodded.

Solaire tapped his chin. “Like I said, I’m no expert on family. Personally, I see no reason to defend someone for a blood relation. Does it matter that he’s your brother? You are connected only by an arbitrary chance of birth.”

“I look for the best in people, family or otherwise,” Gough protested. “It’s who I am.”

“Then I applaud you,” Solaire said – and he did, though he kept his clapping short and quiet. “In that case, the only advice I can give is to recognise when someone is a lost cause. Is your brother a lost cause?”

“No.”

“And if you find that he is, are you willing to give up on him?”

Gough hesitated again.

“It sounds to me like he’s not worth losing sleep over. It takes a rare man to change the world. Likewise, it takes a rare man to change another man. If you can’t, don’t try. Others may benefit from your efforts,” Solaire said.

Their eyes met. There was an honesty in Solaire’s – something innocent, though perhaps burdened with years beyond his age.

Or maybe Gough was just losing his sanity as well as his sleep.

“I’ll think on it.”

“Good,” said Solaire. “I’d best be finding Hawkwood before he drives somebody to suicide. It was nice to meet you, Gough.”

/-/

_Dear Priscilla,_

_I met with the Lords when I arrived in Vale. I must say, they make for good company. The Wizard has a wit about him, a certain wisdom that Father lacks. He is, of course, just as old as Father, and as the Witch, but when I spoke to him he seemed older than both combined. He carries a great weight on his shoulders. Perhaps it is dangerous to care too much, about too many people._

_But when the Witch was with him, the years seemed to fall away from him._

_They are happy together. Sometimes I wonder, if Mother were still with us, would Father be as distant?_

_Don’t mind me._

_The Emerald Forest is incredible, Priscilla. Imagine, if you would, the trees at the oasis. Imagine that there are thousands upon thousands of them, stretching as far as the eye can see. The sunlight sparkles through the leaves, painting the air golden and green. At night, there are little insects that chirp out a calming melody, and during the day there are birds in every branch. They sing like Gwynevere sings – pure and high and warm._

_I mean that as a compliment, of course, though I doubt she’d like me comparing her to a bird. Let’s keep that between us, shall we?_

_The Emerald Forest is not a quiet place, but it is lonely. The voices of birds are a poor replacement for proper companionship. One day, I shall bring you here._

_Your brother._

_I love you, little Yorshka._


	11. Extracurricular

"…and so, through my great strength and sheer force of will, I latched on to the tentacle before it could pull me from my feet and heaved the beast from the watery depths onto the deck of the ship…"

In small, neat lettering, under the heading _Kraken_ , Gilderoy wrote in his notepad: _Draw onto equal footing._

"…even removed from its natural abode, my prey was a formidable sight – my seafaring companions cowered away. But I bravely charged in, years of training and natural instincts allowing me to dodge its writhing appendages…"

_Still dangerous. Requires agility. Team effort – diversion and damage._

"Gil," Gough said. It wasn't quite a whisper – Gough's voice was one that commanded attention, even when quiet – but still, Professor Port (being Professor Port) didn't notice.

Gilderoy hummed his acknowledgement.

"I've got something."

Gilderoy glanced over briefly – instead of a notepad, Gough's scroll was on his desk, an article open too small for Gilderoy to read. "Afterwards," he whispered. Gough nodded.

/-/

"We have time for one more sparring match. Any volunteers?"

The audience was silent. Nobody wanted to fight after Pyrrha's display. _Everyone has an ego_ , Emerald mused. All the same, she didn't offer to fight.

"Miss Belladonna? You've been rather docile for the past few classes. Why don't you-"

"I'll do it."

And she hadn't offered to fight because this was _his_ task. Well, technically it was a task for both of them. But – not that she'd admit it to his face – he was the better fighter, and would be more likely to notice anything strange inside the ring. She'd serve better watching from the outside.

And besides. If wonder-girl was as good as they said, she wouldn't mind watching Mercury get knocked down a peg.

"Mercury, is it? Very well. Let's find you an opponent."

"Actually, I wanna fight… her." He pointed to Pyrrha.

"Me?"

"I'm afraid Miss Nikos has just finished a match. I recommend you choose another partner."

"No! It's fine. I'd be happy to oblige."

Emerald rolled her eyes as Mercury gave Goodwitch a cocky smirk. He made his way down to the sparring ring with a casual saunter while the professor reset the aura display.

Mercury attacked first.

He rushed forwards, planting his left foot on the ground and swinging his right leg up in a high kick. Pyrrha caught it on her shield and swung low, her blade tripping Mercury over. He spun on his hands, flipped onto his feet, and backed off.

Pyrrha was the one to re-engage.

She dashed at him, chambering a strike. Mercury countered with a kick of his own, and threw off her timing. She recovered quickly, her defence impeccable, and after a short but fierce exchange, she pushed Mercury backwards with her shield. His boots sparked along the ground as he skidded, but he kept his footing.

"Hey, your friend's doing pretty good!" _Ugh. Ruby._ Emerald offered what she hoped was a convincing smile and nodded in agreement.

Mercury took the initiative again.

He leapt into the air to bring his boot crashing down. Pyrrha caught it on her shield, but Mercury ducked low the moment he hit the ground, sweeping at her legs. She danced backwards, narrowly avoiding his attacks, then rolled away as he sprung back up, aiming a kick for her head.

Mercury gave her little time to recover, giving chase. She caught his next, lighter flurry of kicks on her shield. The next kick struck behind her small bulwark, and, blocking it with her sword hand, Pyrrha was thrown off balance. She barely recovered in time to deflect the next strike, once again with her shield, but was forced to let go of her blade.

The boot came flying towards her head again. It slammed into the back of her forearm, and as soon as Mercury chambered his next attack she reached backwards, grabbing her sword, and spun, bringing the weapon to bear against him. But her grip must have been loosened – he knocked it off course easily and kicked it out of her hand.

He pressed the advantage, aiming for her face with a reverse roundhouse kick.

But she dodged it.

 _No, she didn't._ Emerald peered closer. _Mercury missed._

And – though she'd only admit it very grudgingly – Mercury didn't miss.

He stumbled to his knees as the kick went wide, and Pyrrha came dashing in for another exchange. He leapt straight into the air, planting his feet on the face of her shield, then kicked off, gaining distance.

He turned to face Goodwitch as he stood back up.

"I forfeit."

_He's got it._

/-/

"Were you paying attention?" Ciaran asked.

"Of course not," Artorias scoffed, stretching as he stood from the desk. "It's Port."

"It's important."

"It's im _port_ ant," Artorias corrected, smirking at Ciaran.

"It's genius."

"Thank you."

"Gods – not the pun, Wolfy. Port. He's-"

"Slightly insane," he finished for her. "Actually, very insane. Completely bonkers."

"Insanity and genius go hand in hand."

"Not always. But at least you admit he's insane."

Ciaran paused. "Eccentric," she admitted.

Gilderoy shook his head at their back-and-forth. He looked to Gough, but their eyes didn't meet. Briefly, he considered telling the rest of the team that Gough was (finally) planning to talk – at least a little – but decided against it. Gough knew what he wanted, and knew who he wanted to talk to.

"He set an assignment at the end of the lecture," Ciaran informed Artorias.

"Did he?"

"You're hopeless."

"Are we getting graded on it?"

She nodded.

"Is he going to remember that he set it?"

"You're not getting out of it."

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"Fine," he repeated.

"So you'll do it."

"Yup."

"Now?"

He winced. "Eh…"

"You'll do it now. Get it out of the way."

Gough tapped Gilderoy on the shoulder, drawing his attention away before they broke into one of their petty half-arguments, and the two slipped away, heading towards the privacy of the dorm. Gough was silent the whole time, though he calmed his fidgeting hands halfway by pulling out his whittling knife and a ball of wood, aimlessly carving as he walked.

Once they reached the dorm, he pocketed the distraction and leaned against the desk.

"I've been researching my brother," he began.

"So we gathered," Gilderoy said. When they'd approached Gough about it not long after Artorias' return, he'd requested politely that they let him sort it out himself. But he was hardly subtle about it, and it hadn't been difficult to discern the object of his interest.

They'd abided by his request on the condition that he look after his health. And he had, though he'd neglected some schoolwork. But he would keep up, they were sure.

"There wasn't much," Gough said. Gilderoy nodded – most of the news outlets in Vacuo were closer to gossip magazines, delivering the interesting details of life in the strange kingdom of Vacuo to the other corners of the world. The nitty-gritty details were rarely reported.

"I was looking through-"

"Gough," Gilderoy cut in, "I don't want to go behind Smough's back."

"It would be difficult for me to talk to Artorias and Ciaran about this," Gough said.

"I know."

"I… I need someone to talk to, Gilderoy. But I don't want to burden you."

"It's alright," Gilderoy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Have you spoken to Smough directly?"

Gough shifted. "Not since he called."

"I haven't called him either," Gilderoy admitted. A pang of guilt shot through him. He'd been considering breaking up with Smough, in fact.

There were a few reasons. Smough was causing a rift in his team – he wasn't blind to that, though they'd somehow fallen into a routine of ignoring the schism. And, truth be told, Gilderoy missed the early days, when he and Artorias never disagreed, never fought, never argued – when they didn't tiptoe around topics like shards of glass.

But that wasn't the main reason.

Gilderoy had ambition. He wanted to make Vacuo safe, make it secure. And Artorias had been right, that day they'd gone in to Vale. If Smough continued as he did, he would end up in prison eventually. He didn't want to have to choose, when the time came. Perhaps if he'd had a Huntsman's credentials, it'd be possible to give Smough some leeway – but he'd never graduate. Not anymore.

Still, he hadn't committed to breaking it off. It was entirely possible that his ambitions would never come to fruition, after all, though he was loath to admit it. And their little team issue might resolve itself.

"Talk. I'm listening," Gilderoy said finally.

Gough let out a sigh of relief. "Has Smough ever told you what happened to our parents?"

Gilderoy nodded.

"I could only find one article about it. But I noticed something strange; there's a description of a suspect."

"I don't follow."

"It also doesn't name any witnesses."

A strange contradiction. "But somebody had to have described the suspect, right?"

Gough nodded. "I think Smough saw it happen."

/-/

"I need your help, Artorias," said Sun.

"I'm hurt," Ciaran said, not looking up from her book. Sun stumbled backwards, clutching his chest as though his heart had given out.

"She left the dorm. She never leaves the dorm. Are you alright, C?"

She peered over her book, raising one eyebrow at the monkey faunus.

"Fine," said Sun. "Artorias?"

"Busy," said the wolf. It was the truth, too. As it turned out, Ciaran hadn't lied. There was homework. It was important homework. It had to be done before the dance. That left a few days – but Ciaran was adamant that he get it out of the way early.

He'd managed to weasel a bargain out of it – he'd do it today, and in return, she'd have to eat something of his own creation. And he'd get to film it – for blackmail or just for his own amusement, he wasn't yet sure.

Mustard would be involved. Obviously.

"It's Blake," Sun said, ignoring him. "I tried asking her to the dance, but she's all like 'it's stupid' and 'I'm too busy' – kinda like you, actually, but about the dance and not about my problems."

"Yup. Busy."

"Sooo… I was thinking if we chase down that Yarrow thing, she'd be like 'yeah nice job the White Fang can wait for two seconds' or something. You wanna get the Yarrow thing?"

"Do you remember what happened last time I was doing homework and you came to me with a plan?" Artorias asked, scribbling down some nonsense comparing Howlers and Beowolves, padding out the word length with as many superfluous, unnecessary, and overall redundant words as he could.

"Uh, we went and fought a giant robot in a high-speed chase and it was awesome?" _He's not wrong._

Artorias put his pen down with a sigh, deciding to try a different tactic. "Sun, if there's one thing I've learnt from Ciaran, it's that if you give in to her demands instantly, nothing will change."

Sun glanced between them. "Pretty sure she hates your guts."

"I just have a healthy respect for his desire to disagree with me," Ciaran corrected, tapping the desk to emphasise her point. Artorias nodded in agreement.

"And she's finally learned that I will get things done... eventually," he said.

"Except for the homework I pulled you away from," Sun pointed out.

"I'll have you know, I got that done," Artorias said, wagging a finger at him. Sure, it had barely met Oobleck's standard, but he _had_ done it. And that was what mattered, right?

"He wrote a two-thousand-word essay in the hour before class," Ciaran said.

"My greatest academic achievement," Artorias said wistfully.

"He was under threat of being thrown off a cliff. I've never seen him so motivated."

"Nice."

Artorias rolled his eyes. " _Anyway_ , Sun, here's my point. If I sat down and did my homework every time Ciaran told me to, she'd take it for granted that she can order me to do my homework. Because I _don't_ do that, she-"

"I still order you to do your homework and but you kick up a fuss about it?" Ciaran teased.

"But you compromise with me," Artorias said, his ears twitching irritably. "I won't do _exactly_ what you want, just _kinda_ what you want."

Ciaran frowned in thought, considering it for a moment, then she shrugged. "I take what I can get. But what is it you're doing now?"

"Mustard, C. Think of the mustard."

"How does this help me with Blake again?"

Artorias looked up in thought. Surely he'd brought it up for a good reason – but now it escaped him.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"He just likes talking about me," Ciaran said.

 _Let's try again._ "Look, Blake's gonna keep focusing on the White Fang, right?"

"Right."

"Can you convince every White Fang operative in Vale to become peaceful, or put them all behind bars, all before the dance?"

Sun looked up, his brow furrowing in thought. _Really? You have to think about it?_ "Eh, probably not."

"Then she's gonna keep focusing on the Fang before anything else, right?"

"I guess."

"So chasing this Yarrow lead isn't going to change her mind."

Sun nodded in understanding. "So you're saying… we should go after their hideout in the south-east?"

_Idiot._

"He's saying that you can't reach through to her by dealing with the White Fang," Ciaran said. "You've got to talk to her and compromise with her." _Right, compromising, that's the important part._

"You think that'll work?"

Artorias shrugged. "Clearly she's not really listening to you. Unless you can come up with some beautiful heartfelt speech to convince her to take a break from the Fang, it's probably best to leave her alone. Let someone else do it."

Sun nodded again. Artorias picked up his pen once more, and resumed writing.

"Hey Art-"

"I'm not writing a beautiful heartfelt speech for you," Artorias said bluntly.

"No, man, it's not that," said Sun. "Who're you going to the dance with?"

Artorias' pen froze, just for a second. "I… haven't really thought about it." That was a total lie. He'd found his thoughts turning to Quelana often since his trip back to Vacuo. But, unfortunately, she hadn't qualified for the tournament – hadn't even applied, in fact – and they weren't dating anymore either way.

"That's cool," Sun said. "You can go stag."

"Lone wolf," Ciaran said offhandedly, not even looking up from her book.

"Thanks, C," Artorias grinned, offering a fistbump. Ciaran didn't reciprocate, but a smile crossed her features.

Artorias shrugged and went back to writing, and Sun took a seat next to him, rocking back and forth restlessly in his chair.

"Soooo…"

"If this isn't vitally important, I'm gonna go find a nice, _quiet_ spot to finish this," Artorias warned.

"Just wondering if you'd ever seen that guy in my year, he gets up like, super early every morning and sits out on the cliffs. Kinda weird, right?"

Artorias stood and closed his notepad.

"I'm out. Catch you later, C."

/-/

"Hey, um, Blake, are you alright?"

Jaune didn't know Blake that well. Actually, he knew basically nothing about her; she hardly talked in his presence, and it was even rarer for her to talk directly to him.

But dammit, he considered her a friend.

"I'm… fine." She certainly didn't look 'fine', or 'alright' or any other word to describe someone in a healthy physical and/or mental state.

"Uh, you sure?"

She spared one look at him, her eyes lingering and her brow furrowed when she noticed the guitar in his hands, then stormed off.

_Eh, Team Ruby's probably on it. But without the 'b'. Team Roo-y?_

_And hey, at least she spoke to me._

Jaune shrugged. Small victories.

As he reached the door to Team RWBY's room, he steeled himself, squaring his shoulders. He put on his best smile (he'd held a competition in the mirror; this _was,_ undeniably, the best smile he had), and gently laid his fingers over the neck of the instrument, forming a chord.

_You got this._

He knocked on the door.

Lo and behold, Weiss Schnee was the one to open the door. _Lucky me._

"Weeeeeeiiiiiiiiiss!" he sang, strumming on the guitar.

She glared at him. _Oh god, what do I do, she's glaring, that's the scary glary glare._

He did the first thing that came to mind. He winked.

She slammed the door in his face.

He huffed, relaxing briefly. Once again, he puffed his chest out and planted his feet in a confident stance. He knocked again. "Oh, come on."

_Knock knock knock._

"Open the door… I promise not to sing."

There was a brief moment of silence, and for a second he thought his efforts were in vain.

Then the door opened again.

His hands scrabbled over the guitar.

" _I liiiiiieeeeeeed!"_

Her palm met her forehead, but she didn't close the door. He took that as a good sign.

"Weiss Schnee! Will you accompany me…" _Keep going, you got this!_ "To the daaaaaaance oooooooon-" _oh god Sunday doesn't rhyme-_ "Sundaaaaaaaay!" _Just go with it!_

She made a sharp sound of contempt. "Are you done?"

"…yes?"

"No." She shut the door again.

_Coulda gone worse, coulda gone better._

_Okay, nothing short of a Grimm attack could have made that worse._

/-/

Gough held his scroll in his hands, his eyes fixed on it.

"Call him," Gilderoy said firmly.

"If he wanted to tell me, he'd have told me."

"I'm not blind, Gough. Smough has issues. He probably doesn't know how to talk about it. But I think he'd rather talk to you than me about this. Call him."

Gough grimaced, then shook his head. "I need to think more. About what to say."

"Don't put this off."

"It's not-"

"Gough, call him."

"No," he said firmly, his mind made up. "I'll do it when I'm ready."

"Gough-"

"I've made my decision," he said. There was steel in his gaze, and Gilderoy backed down.

"You'll do it when you're ready?"

"I'll do it when I'm ready."

"You'll know when you're ready?"

"I can only hope."

Gilderoy nodded, satisfied. "You alright?"

"I'm fine. Thank you, Gilderoy."

Gilderoy nodded again, this time in acknowledgement, and let out a breath he didn't realise he was holding.

"Do you want to-"

"I want to talk about something else," Gough said. "I need time."

"Of course."

"Artorias and Ciaran?"

Gilderoy and Gough had both seen a marked shift in the dynamic between Artorias and Ciaran since they'd come to Beacon. Neither could quite place their finger on it – but they could both tell that they were good for each other. Artorias was perhaps more relaxed around her than anyone else, and Ciaran enjoyed pushing Artorias. Especially when he gave ground, even just a little.

They'd always been like that, of course, but there was something else now. Something different.

It had been Gough's idea to try pushing them together for the dance. They'd been somewhat worried that Artorias wasn't over Quelana – but Gilderoy had been assuaged somewhat by Artorias' return from Vacuo, for the wolf faunus hadn't mentioned her since then.

"Artorias and Ciaran," Gilderoy confirmed.

"You have a plan?"

He didn't want to force them together so much as give them cause to spend more time together. If something came of that, fine. If not – well, it was their prerogative.

He wanted them to be happy. And unless he was willing to give up Smough – which he still wasn't sure about – neither of them could relax around him the way he wanted them to. Better, then, to set them up together and stay on the fringes.

"More-or-less."

/-/

"I'm actually thinking… maybe we just skip aura tonight? Might go on a jog or something," said Jaune.

"Come on – I know you get frustrated, but you _must keep trying_. I'm sure we'll discover your semblance any day now," said Pyrrha, a broad smile on her face. Artorias rolled his eyes at her optimism. Everyone's semblance was different. Gil had had his for years before Shade. Ciaran still didn't know hers.

_Now, just need a decent concluding paragraph…_

"That's… not it. It's just – it's dumb."

"What is it? Jaune, you know you can tell me." She laid a supportive hand on his shoulder.

"It's… Weiss." _What a dramatic turn of events!_

Pyrrha visibly deflated, and backed away a little. _Wow, how does he not notice that?_ "Oh… what about her?"

"I asked her to the dance and she shot me down. Heh. Big surprise, right?"

"Well… I believe the saying goes," she said, choosing her words carefully, "there's plenty of fish in the sea."

 _And… done!_ Artorias finished his essay with a satisfied smirk.

"That's easy for you to say. You've probably got guys clamouring over each other just to ask you out."

"Heh… you'd be surprised."

"Oh please, if you don't get a date to the dance, I'll wear a dress. Ha!" Jaune waved her off, walking towards the stairwell.

_Oh, why not?_

"Here's some advice."

"Artorias?!" they both shrieked (well, Jaune shrieked; Pyrrha let out a slightly more dignified yelp), jumping dangerously close to the roof's edge.

"No, I'm the Painter of Worlds," he mocked, rolling his eyes.

"What are you – how long-"

"Doing an essay, been here the whole time," he said.

"How can you even see?" asked Jaune.

"Dude." Artorias wiggled his ears. "Faunus."

"Oh," said Jaune lamely. "Right."

"Where was I?"

"You were going to offer unsolicited advice?" Pyrrha prompted. Her voice was kind, but Artorias didn't miss the little barb.

"About Weiss, yes. So, when I was your age, a friend of mine gave me a real big truth bomb," he said. Except, not long afterwards, he and Winter had gone off to deal with a literal bomb.

Good times.

" _When I was your age?_ " Jaune said incredulously. "What are you, my dad?"

"I certainly hope not. Anyway, here's the deal. Ask her out; if she says no, move on."

"But-"

"I get it. _Moving on_ is easy to say, harder to do. It felt like she hadn't given me a fair chance. That sound right to you?"

He nodded.

"She gave me exactly the chance I deserved. I laid my heart out, showed her what I had to offer, and she decided that she didn't want it. And look, I haven't been there to see every single time you've asked Weiss out. But obviously, you never showed her that you have what she wants. That's either because you have it but you're hiding it, or because you straight up don't have it. Which one is it?"

Jaune seemed to actually give it real thought, but Artorias was paying more attention to Pyrrha. She was watching him in return, a curious look crossing her features, although when their eyes met she looked away.

"I have it," said Jaune, finally.

"Do you think you have it, or do you know you have it?"

"…I think I have it?" he said, quietly, as though he wasn't certain it was the right thing to say.

Artorias rolled his eyes. "Good answer. Ask her again, but do it properly. Be honest with her, put everything on the table, but if she turns you down again, _walk away_. Do you hear me?"

Jaune sighed, then nodded. "I'll only ask one more time," he said. "And I'll ask right. I promise."

Artorias nodded. "Good."

A weight seemed to fall from Jaune's shoulders. "Uh, I'm gonna go for that jog," he said, but before he departed down the stairs, he turned again to Artorias. "Hey, thanks for the talk."

"Don't mention it," he waved. "Seriously, if anyone asks, say it was Gough. I have a reputation to uphold."

Jaune laughed half-heartedly, waved to Pyrrha with a smile, then left.

Artorias knelt down, collecting his books and pens, but he didn't hear Pyrrha leave.

"Not gonna lie, I kinda want to see Jaune in a dress," Artorias said, not yet looking up.

She stayed silent, and the wolf turned around to see her nodding slowly.

"You think Weiss'll turn him down?" he asked.

"I hope not," she said. Artorias mulled her words over in his mind – her tone of voice, her pacing – and he found that she didn't seem to be lying.

"If that's the truth, you're a damn saint," he remarked. "But that's not the question."

Pyrrha looked up in thought. "No comment," she said.

"I think she'll turn him down," said Artorias. Jaune was a good kid, sure, but he'd already made a horrible impression on Weiss. It'd take more than a heartfelt confession to turn that around. "He'll hurt for a while, but he won't get over her unless he does this right. Just don't wait too long."

She blanched. "Am I that obvious?"

Artorias snorted. "Pyrrha, even a blind man could see that you want him to invite you to 'dance'." He wiggled his eyebrows and his ears at her suggestively, and she blushed a brighter red than her hair.

She closed her eyes and shook her head, as though purging the image from her mind. "Why are you helping… I don't even know which one of us you're helping."

"I'd say that watching him pine after Weiss got boring, but that's patently false. It's hilarious," he chuckled.

"You're not very nice about people behind their backs," she said accusingly. _Woah, chill._

"Depends on the person," he said. "Actually, you know what? I _did_ make fun of Gough once, so I guess everyone's fair game." She narrowed her eyes at him. "What? I take my humour where I can get it."

She glared at him for a few more seconds, then she looked away, her mouth forming a thin line. When her gaze returned to him, she wore a forced neutral expression. "I still want to know why you gave him that advice."

He shrugged. "There are a few reasons. I'm sure Weiss is pretty tired of it. I'm sure Jaune'll be in a much better place once he's over her. But the main one is that I know how demoralising it is for you." He relished the flash of surprise that crossed her face. He'd caught her off-guard.

"Way back when, I was in your position, not Jaune's. I wanted to ask Ciaran out, but every time I tried, well… I chickened out. We had a good thing going – a 'friends' thing. I didn't want to ruin it. Then I got that advice, and I asked her out, and she said no. But I'm glad I asked." Thankfully, she'd been kind enough not to tell the rest of the team. It had been a bit of a vulnerable time, for him.

"I'm sorry if we brought up bad memories."

"If I wasn't comfortable talking about it, I wouldn't have," he said dismissively. "Anyway, fast forward a few months, and Quelana asks me out. I don't think I'd have said yes if I were still pining over Ciaran," he said. "And, I mean, that was pretty good."

There was a hopeful smile on Pyrrha's face. "I'm glad for you, then."

Artorias let out a long, tired sigh. "I'm gonna go annoy C. You good?"

She nodded listlessly, and Artorias turned towards the door. "Good luck with Loverboy."


	12. Burning the Candle

"If _I_ don't get doilies, _you_ don't get fog machines!"

Neptune pushed the door open; Sun and Artorias followed close behind.

"Your dance is gonna have fog machines?"

 _Nope,_ Artorias thought. _Get an extra pair of ears, Neptune._

"We were thinking about it," Weiss said, changing her tune awfully quickly. Artorias rolled his eyes and shared a look with Sun.

"That's pretty cool."

"You ladies all excited for dress-up?" Sun asked, gesturing enthusiastically.

Ruby made a despondent sound. "Yeah, right."

"Laugh all you want, I'll be turning heads tomorrow night," said Yang, a conceited smirk on her face.

"I'll be sure to laugh plenty," Artorias said dryly.

Yang's eyes flashed crimson for a second. "Shut it, Wolfy."

"What are you three wearing?" asked Weiss.

Sun made a face. "Uh, this?"

"Ignore him, for he knows not what he says," Neptune said, his face speaking of someone long-suffering.

"Hey, I may have moved to Mistral, but I grew up in Vacuo. It's not exactly a shirt and tie kinda place," Sun explained.

Yang raised an eyebrow at Artorias.

He shrugged. "He's not wrong, but he could do to put _some_ effort in." Gilderoy had a suit, he knew, and Artorias himself had a dress shirt and waistcoat for the occasion. Even Gough had managed to find formalwear in his size.

"I'll work on it," Neptune said, giving Sun a pointed look.

Sun ignored him. "So, uh, what does Blake think of all this? She still being all, you know, Blakey?"

"Obviously," drawled Weiss.

"I still can't think of a way to change her mind," Ruby complained.

"Guys. Trust me. Blake _will_ be at the dance tomorrow," said Yang confidently, moving for the door.

Sun tapped Artorias on the chest and leaned in. "Dude," he whispered, "she's doing the heartfelt speech thing, isn't she?"

Artorias fixed his eyes on the monkey faunus, forcing a bored expression on his face.

"Yeah, right, obvious, whatever."

Neptune laid a hand on Sun's shoulder. "C'mon, man. We'll see if any of Scarlet's clothes fit you."

"I'm a stowaway, not a sailor," Sun complained as he was led away.

/-/

"I thought I asked you to call me Morgan."

"Of course, Miss Nym," said Gilderoy, sipping at his tea. The woman before him rolled her eyes, but didn't correct him again.

"It's nice to finally meet you," she said. "I've heard about you."

"From Artorias? Nothing too bad, I hope?"

"Not all of it's positive."

"Naturally."

"But he considers you to be a friend. I'm surprised he's not here to introduce you, actually. He seemed to want me to meet the team."

"I'm here to talk about him, actually," said Gilderoy. "Don't worry, he's fine," he said, seeing her expression turn to worry. "I… look, it's a little complicated. It sounds like you're aware that my friendship with Artorias is a little strained. I want to try to mend the rift, a little. Or substitute it, perhaps – I'm not sure."

"You've lost me."

"He and Ciaran are close," he explained. "I want to pair them up."

"You're playing matchmaker?"

"If the cards fall that way, yes. The fact of the matter is that Ciaran is a better friend for Artorias than I have ever been, and he is the same for her, and I don't want to hold them back from whatever it is they have."

Morgan sipped at her coffee. "And you're not content with simply letting the cards fall?"

"It's not that simple," he said. "I'm not blind. Ciaran and Gough are always torn when Artorias and I fight." It had been a little better since they'd come to Vale, for sure – but Gilderoy knew that every time they walked away, they only made the next fight worse.

"So you're encouraging Ciaran to take Artorias' side."

"No," he said. "I want him to have a different outlet, and hopefully one he's less argument-prone with."

"You want them to spend more time together."

"Essentially, yes."

She nodded. "I'll trust your judgement. But, just so you know – I think Artorias really does appreciate you."

"I'm sure he'd get bored if he couldn't antagonise me occasionally," Gilderoy quipped.

She chuckled lightly. "How can I help?"

"I have it on good authority that Ciaran needs to go to Vale later today. If you were to ask to meet with Artorias – and to meet his team – he'd invite her along. Gough and I can make ourselves busy back at Beacon."

"Sounds a little underhanded," she frowned. "And I wouldn't mind meeting Gough."

"Everyone could use a Gough in their life," Gilderoy admitted. "But he's a little distracted right now. Personal issues."

"Of course."

"You'll help, then?"

Morgan nodded. "Of course. So – tell me about Team GWIN. I'd like your perspective."

"There's not much to it. Not much you don't know, I suppose. Gough's the mediator, Ciaran's the academic, Artorias is insufferable, and I'm – well, I'm probably insufferable to him, too."

"So I hear," she mused. "What have you all achieved?"

"I'm not sure I follow."

"Trainees get sent out on missions, don't they? Tell me about Quill."

"I'm sorry?" That Morgan knew about the Quill conspiracy came as a surprise – outside of each kingdoms' security details assigned to Amity for the last tournament, very few were even aware of it.

"Arthur Quill. Artorias skirted around that story."

"It wasn't an official mission," Gilderoy hedged. "I assume he has his reasons."

"I'm sure there is a reason," she acknowledged, "but I don't believe it's a good one. Please – I want to know what happened."

Gilderoy held her gaze for a moment, considering it. Arthur Quill – the man Artorias had killed. It was one of the few topics Artorias shied away from.

But then – if Morgan knew the name, surely she knew at least the basics of what had happened. It was fair that she'd be worried about her son, even if it had happened almost two years ago.

Gilderoy nodded. She had a right to know.

"I don't know too much," he admitted. "I wasn't involved." That had been some of the worst of his fighting with Artorias – just after he'd gotten together with Smough. He'd only found out about it from Gough a few months after the incident.

"Sun told me he tipped off Artorias," said Morgan.

"That's my understanding too." He didn't know how Sun found out, of course – but the faunus was a social butterfly. It didn't surprise him. Seeing as he'd still only been at a preliminary combat school – Sunlight Academy, to be precise – Sun hadn't involved himself any further.

"Artorias took the claim seriously – or, as seriously as he takes anything – and investigated. He wasn't the only one – there was a member of Atlas' security delegation on the trail as well. They teamed up, tracked the White Fang to their base of operations, then called up Ciaran and Gough for backup and stormed the place."

"And Quill was…"

"I believe he was leading the White Fang cell – but I'm no expert on their hierarchy."

"What happened to him?"

Gilderoy pursed his lips. "Artorias killed him. Or so I hear."

Her breath hitched. "Are you sure?"

"I wasn't there."

Morgan nodded. "I understand. I'll ask him more tomorrow."

"He doesn't like talking about it."

"I'll ask him more tomorrow," she repeated, steel in her eyes.

Gilderoy pursed his lips, but he inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Of course."

/-/

"Blue? Really? You wear blue _all_ the time."

"It looks good on me."

"True, but if you're going blue, you might as well wear your normal dress and save lien."

"Combat skirt," Ciaran corrected, rolling her eyes. "Alright, I'll find something else. Wait here."

It had been a surprise to hear from his mother, although not an unwelcome one. He hadn't wanted to talk about Arthur Quill with her, and so Artorias had been avoiding his mother. It would be a lie to say that he didn't feel guilty over it. But at least she wouldn't ask about Quill with Ciaran there, right?

That he'd managed to convince Ciaran to come had been a stroke of luck. She was heading to Vale anyway to get a dress for the dance. He'd asked Gilderoy to come as well, per his mother's request, but he'd declined. He hadn't asked Gough, knowing that the taller man had more than enough to worry about.

"How about this one?"

"It's a dance, not a funeral."

Ciaran huffed and stormed off deeper into the store again.

And now he was helping Ciaran choose a dress for the dance. He was more than happy to help, of course – but the girl didn't have much in the way of a fashion sense beyond her blue-dress comfort zone.

 _Combat skirt._ He imagined her irritably correcting him again, and chuckled to himself.

Not that Artorias thought himself to be particularly fashionable either. Gough, perhaps, had a better eye for such things. Ironically, the man could barely find clothes in his size.

"Eh?" Ciaran returned, holding up a long evening gown. The fabric was grey, but it caught the light in a way that made it shimmer like liquid silver.

"You gonna try it on?"

"You're not going to tell me it's not worth it?"

"Nope," he said, popping the 'p'. "You might have a winner there."

She peered at him suspiciously.

"Do I have something on my face?"

She snorted and shook her head, a small smile on her face. "I'll be right back," she said, moving towards the fitting room.

/-/

"Ren, I'm just gonna come out and say it. You are one of my best friends," said Jaune. And he meant it, too, he really did. He wasn't just saying it to butter the shorter boy up for advice.

Okay, he was saying it to butter Ren up. But he still meant it.

"These past few months, I feel like we've really bonded. Even though you don't say much. I mean, you're _really_ quiet." Well, he wasn't as quiet as Blake, at least. "To be perfectly honest I don't know much about you personally, but darn it, I consider you to be the brother I never had!"

And Jaune knew _all_ about being a brother. He had seven sisters, after all, and he was a great brother to them.

Aside from the running away part.

But regardless, Ren was everything he wanted in a brother, and everything he felt his sisters saw in him as a brother. So, he was being truthful.

_You're also buttering him up._

"And I you," said Ren, after a brief pause. _Thank god._

"Which is why I want your help with… well, words. I'm not very good with them."

"You've lost me."

"I – look, I'm going to ask Weiss out again, and it's going to be the – you know, the big 'this is it' ask. So I want to ask well, you know? Anyway, I was hoping that you could tell me how you and Nora-"

"Uh, um, well-"

"Ahem, heh, we're not actually… _together-_ together," Nora said, filling in for Ren. _Oh, right, of course, I knew that – NORA!_

"Nora I said _headphones on!"_

"Oop!" the ginger girl scrambled to cover her ears again.

"Jaune," said Ren, apparently having recovered his composure, "I'm still not sure I understand what you mean."

"I… want her to know how I feel. And I want her to focus on that, just that, not a guitar or a pickup line or a – well, or an anything really. Maybe something small? I don't know."

"You want to be honest."

"Exactly!" Jaune said. "I just want to work out how I want to say it before I'm actually saying it, you know? Just… make sense of it all so I don't screw it up again."

"My door is open to you," said Ren. "Talk freely and openly."

Jaune breathed deeply. _Okay, here goes. Just… let it out._ "I… I'm head over heels for her. I know she's cold, but she's also incredible. She's smart, and she's graceful, and she's talented – have you heard her sing? But, you know, those are reasons _why_ I have feelings for her, but they don't really stand for my feelings, right?"

"Jaune, those _are_ your feelings." That was Pyrrha's voice – Jaune looked up from his hands, and there she was, standing in the doorway. "Doesn't the way you understand someone as a person represent your feelings for them?"

Jaune sighed. "I mean, I guess you're right, but I mean, it's just a list of things about her she probably already knows, you know? I want her to know how she makes me feel. And like I said, I'm not super good with words – I just feel like – when I see her, I can hear my pulse in my head, and it feels like I've just run a thousand miles and it's tiring but it's also..."

"Exhilarating?" suggested Pyrrha. Jaune nodded.

"Yeah. Exhilarating."

"I think you just found your words," said Ren.

"…right." Jaune jumped to his feet, newly filled with determination. "Thanks Pyrrha! Good talk, Ren!"

/-/

The café was a small, quiet place: a veritable hole-in-the-wall if Ciaran had ever seen one. The storefront took up little space – just a single door that was narrower than most, and one open window, low enough for those seated by it to look outside without straining.

There was a smell to the place as well. A pleasant aroma of fresh coffee with just a hint of woodsmoke. Ciaran breathed deeply as she entered, letting it wash over her.

A nice place indeed.

"Good morning!" greeted the man behind the counter. Something about him seemed familiar, though Ciaran couldn't quite place it. His blond hair was cropped close to his head, and though he was dressed in what must have been the café's uniform, there was a crystal hanging around his neck. At first glance, it looked like uncut dust, but Ciaran noticed that it was opaque, unlike any dust she'd ever seen.

"Morning," Ciaran said in return. "Could I get a cup of tea, please? Valean breakfast."

"Of course," said the man, with a bright smile. "And…?"

"Just the same, thanks," said Artorias.

"Won't be a minute."

Artorias and Ciaran sat down at a table, checking the time – they still had about ten minutes before Morgan was supposed to arrive.

"You looking forward to the dance?"

"Enough to spend money on a dress," Ciaran said, her eyes flitting to her bag, which she'd carelessly thrown onto the seat next to her.

"And yet you don't seem so enthused."

"It's just – nothing, never mind. I've got a lot on my mind is all." And most of it was about the dance, in fact. Artorias was going alone; that made things a little easier. But making him and Gilderoy talk to each other?

She cast her mind back to her notebook. She was working on it. It'd work out. It'd be fine.

Artorias nodded.

"Sorry to intrude – you're talking about the Beacon dance, correct?" The blond employee came over, setting the tea down in front of them.

"Yup," said Artorias, popping the 'p'. Ciaran nodded in agreement, adding a small spoon of sugar to her drink and stirring it in.

"Ah, I thought I recognised you," said the blond man. "I'm Solaire. Second year from Atlas."

"Ciaran, third year Shade," said Ciaran simply. Solaire offered her a hand; she took it warily and he shook vigorously, a warm smile on his face.

"I'm Artorias, the Wolf-"

"Wolfy, no," she said.

Artorias rolled his eyes at her. "You're from Atlas?" he asked, addressing Solaire again. "Why would you get a job in Vale?"

Solaire shrugged. "I just wanted to be of service. Speaking of which: can I get you anything else?"

"We're waiting for someone – perhaps when she arrives, but for now we're fine." said Ciaran.

"The more the merrier, of course. Well, I'll leave you to it then."

"Thanks, Solaire," Artorias said.

"Any time," the cheery waiter responded, making his way over to another table and humming a tune to himself.

"So, not the dance – how about missions?" Artorias asked, drumming the fingers of his right hand on the table. Her eyes were drawn to the copper signet ring on the index finger of that hand. He'd had it for as long as they'd known each other, and he would sometimes fidget with it, perhaps without even realising.

It seemed important to him, though he'd never divulged why.

"Ciaran?"

She collected her thoughts. "Hmm?"

"The mission," Artorias prompted, leaning forwards in his chair.

"We haven't gotten it yet," she said.

"Duh," Artorias said. Ciaran tilted her head, adopting a thoroughly unimpressed look. "What kind of mission do you think we should pick?"

"Shouldn't we wait until we're with the others?"

"It's not like we're deciding once and for all what we're doing," he said. "Just throwing ideas into the mix. Whaddaya reckon? Something quiet and laid back? Or guns-blazing Grimm-destroying fun?"

"You already have something in mind, don't you?" It seemed obvious now that she thought to look for it – the obnoxious smirk that said he had some probably-pointless agenda of his own.

"I'm glad you asked." His smirk grew considerably less subtle. "Somewhere between doing homework and participating in high speed chases with giant robots, we – that is to say, Team RWBY, Neptune, Sun, and myself – got a few leads."

"Leads on what?"

"Gods only know. There's a White Fang base somewhere outside the city to the south-east. If there's a mission there, we're taking it."

"First and second years choose missions before we do."

"I know. My money's on Team RWBY gobbling up any missions in the area. Which is why there's a backup plan – a mission somewhere in the city."

"The Yarrow thing?"

"The Yarrow thing," he confirmed.

"What if those aren't options?"

"Then we flip a coin."

"There'll be more than two options."

"We'll flip all the coins."

"That doesn't work."

"You're obviously not trying hard enough, then."

She rolled her eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh. "It's not like you'd put the effort in to make it work."

"To prove you wrong? I absolutely would."

"I hope I'm not interrupting." Ciaran looked up – pulling up a chair was a short woman, perhaps in her mid-forties.

"Hey Mum," said Artorias.

Ciaran couldn't see the resemblance, no matter how hard she tried.

"Sorry I'm late," Artorias' mother said, taking a seat.

"Yes, we're both very disappointed in you," Artorias teased. The woman ignored him, turning instead to Ciaran. And there – finally, a resemblance. Her eyes looked just like her son's.

"You must be Ciaran?"

Ciaran nodded, shaking her hand when it was offered.

"Morgan," said Morgan. "I bore the horrible burden of raising him," she said, jerking a thumb towards Artorias with a well-meaning smile.

"You wound me."

"It's nice to meet you," Ciaran finally choked out.

She'd almost forgotten what it was like to meet new people – _new_ new people, rather. It had been easy with Team RWBY – perhaps because they were close to her own age, but then, it had taken a while for her to accustom to her own team when they'd first met. Maybe it was something in Team RWBY's dynamic – the innocence of Ruby gave her somebody she never felt she could disappoint, while the boisterousness of Yang filled in the gaps in conversation. It also didn't hurt that Weiss wasn't too much unlike her sister, who Ciaran was at least a little familiar with.

And she still hadn't met Blake. Huh.

Regardless, it all came back in a wave – the dry mouth, the rapid pulse, the uncertainty. Ciaran wasn't sure where to rest her hands. She wasn't sure where to look. She wasn't sure how to do anything.

Desperately, she looked to Artorias for help.

"Sorry I couldn't get the rest of the team," Artorias said. "Gilderoy was… I dunno, just didn't seem that interested. And I didn't want to ask Gough. He's dealing with some stuff right now."

"Oh, it's fine," said Morgan. "So, Ciaran – how did you two first meet?"

 _Crap._ "There was – we got in a fight." _Nice one, C._ "I mean, we all arrived at Shade, and the two of us kinda got in a fight, but it wasn't that bad, then we all made up five minutes later." _Smooth._

It occurred to Ciaran that the voice berating her in her head sounded very much like Artorias.

Morgan seemed to buy the story though – which she should, seeing as it was true, if a little vague on the details. "You never picked fights before you went to Vacuo, Arty," said Morgan.

"About that…"

"Just let me have this," she said.

"Ah, this must be the company – I'll be with you again in a moment," said Solaire, waltzing past with hands full of plates.

Morgan turned to Artorias. "Do you know him?"

"Kinda? I mean, he got us the tea. And apparently he's from Atlas. The school, not the kingdom."

"And he has a job in Vale?"

"That's what I said," Artorias shrugged. "I think he's cool."

"Yeah," Ciaran agreed lamely, thinking that she should at least contribute something to the conversation.

"Right," said Solaire. He seemed a little disheveled as he came back to their table, but still he wore a smile on his face. "Can I get you anything?"

"Coffee, thanks."

"Water," Ciaran said quietly. It seemed at first that she'd been too quiet for him to hear, but then, just as she was about to ask again – more politely, and louder, she saw him wink at her and tilt the pad ever so slightly towards her. And, indeed, water was written down. A few more words were exchanged to confirm with Solaire that yes, that was all, and then he was off again.

From there, they engaged in small talk – mostly about Shade, and a little about Beacon. Artorias carried the conversation well – whether because he was naturally social or because he noticed Ciaran's discomfort, she couldn't rightly say. Still, she chipped in where it seemed appropriate.

"Moral of the story is that parasols are awesome, and anyone using one is about ten times more badass than I'll ever be," Artorias finished.

"You're selling yourself short."

"If only. If I were shorter, I'd be that much closer to total badassdom. The only other things I'd need are a food-based colour scheme and a parasol of my own."

Morgan chuckled a little to herself, shaking her head. "You don't have to be short to use a parasol, Arty."

"Well, no, but come _on._ Have you ever seen a tall person with a parasol?"

"This Neo girl is the first I've even _heard_ of somebody using a parasol."

He opened his mouth – then paused, held up a finger, and thought about it. Finally, he said, "that's fair."

Morgan laughed again. Ciaran, her glass of water finished, sipped at the tea she'd abandoned earlier. It had gone lukewarm – a little too cold for her liking, but not yet disgusting.

"What else have you gotten yourself into?" Morgan asked.

Artorias paused, his mouth contorting as he thought. "I think that's just about it, yep, nothing else."

"Arty-"

"Nope, nothing else. I've told you about the time Gough got drunk?" He hadn't – or, at least, he hadn't today. Ciaran smiled at the memory – it had turned out that Gough was a very friendly drunk, going around telling everyone that he loved them. Even Professor Brim.

"Quill, Artorias," said Morgan.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said, shrugging nonchalantly. He raised his mug halfway to his lips before looking down and seeming to realise it was empty.

"I do, Artorias."

"Here? Really?"

"Does it matter? It shouldn't be a big deal."

"It's not a big deal. In fact, it's not any deal. It's a non-deal. An ex-deal. An un-deal."

Ciaran knew it was a touchy subject for the wolf faunus – and that alone made it at least something of a deal. Artorias was willing to cross a lot of lines in the name of (bad) humour. But Quill was one of the few subjects he'd never touched like that.

"Arty, you took his life."

"I know what I did, Mum. It was two years ago."

"Do you know what happened?" Morgan turned to Ciaran, and suddenly her mouth felt dry once again.

"I was there," she said shortly. She hadn't seen it happen herself – Ciaran and Gough had been left to round up the White Fang grunts while Winter and Artorias had chased Quill.

"What happened?"

"Don't," Artorias said. "Don't make something out of this. It was a long time ago."

"I'm worried about you, Arty."

"You don't have to be."

"I think I do. You can't just brush him aside. Don't you want me to hear it from you?"

"Have you met Winter?"

"Don't try to distract me."

Artorias rubbed his temple with his right hand. "Have you met Winter?" he repeated, slower this time.

"Why would I have?"

"Sun didn't know I killed Quill. Who told you?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me. Who told you?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It was Ornstein, wasn't it?" Artorias shook his head. "Can't be Winter, probably not Gough, and I doubt you've had a chat with dear old Arthur recently."

Ciaran shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. There was something in Artorias' eyes that shook her to her core.

"Arty-"

"It's my life, Mum," he said, a pained expression on his face. "I can make my own choices. I can deal with the consequences."

"He's the one dealing with the-"

Ciaran stood then, practically shooting to her feet. "I don't think – I need to go," she stammered out.

Not waiting for a response, she grabbed her bag and walked out of the café.

/-/

"You're Gilderoy, right?"

Gilderoy Ornstein looked up from his book – something he was hardly even reading anyway. Two girls stood before him – one in a red hood, the other with bright orange hair wearing green.

"That's me."

"From Team GWIN?"

"You're Ruby, I take it."

Ruby nodded.

"Gough's busy. And Artorias and Ciaran are-"

"Actually, we kinda wanted to talk to you," said Ruby.

"Me?"

"Uh, yeah," said Ruby.

Gilderoy shrugged and gestured for them to sit. They did so. Ruby glanced to the ginger girl.

"Hello?" said the ginger girl, more as a question than anything else.

Gilderoy pursed his lips. He had the distinct feeling he was going to regret this. "Hi," he said.

"Salut-" began the ginger, before cutting herself off. "What I meant to say is, my name is Penny," she corrected herself. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," said Gilderoy.

Penny glanced at Ruby as though for encouragement. The girl in the red hood offered a thumbs-up. "I'm here from Atlas Academy!" said Penny, more cheerfully this time.

"Shade," offered Gilderoy. He paused for a second, feeling his scroll buzz in his pocket. He held up a finger to indicate that they should give him a moment, and he checked it, expected a message from Gough.

But instead, it was a message from Ciaran – or, rather, a screenshot of a message that Artorias had sent to Ciaran.

_Where is Gil?_

A brief second later came another message.

_He's probably angry._

A weight settled in the pit of his stomach. Clearly something had gone wrong. Hopefully it was just a misunderstanding – Gil only wanted to make them spend time together, nothing more, nothing less.

Okay, secretly he'd hoped for more. But he hadn't planned for more.

"Is something wrong?" Penny asked.

"Nothing," said Gilderoy. "I just need a moment."

He weighed his options. Gough had asked for privacy to call Smough – hence the reason Gilderoy was in the library in the first place. He could ignore Ciaran's message, and Artorias would doubtless check the dorm first, interrupting Gough.

That wasn't acceptable.

With a sigh, Gilderoy sent Ciaran a message. _Library._

"Right – where were we?"

"I was asking if something was wrong and you said you needed a moment," Penny recounted.

"Right." That hardly helped him pick up the thread of the already threadbare conversation.

"So…" Ruby prompted. "How about your team?"

"My team?"

"Yeah! I mean, I think my team's pretty awesome, and Penny… yeah, Penny's team, but, uh – what do you think of yours? Don't you and Wolfy fight a lot?"

_Oh, the irony._

"Not so much recently," he said, inwardly cringing at his own words.

"I can't imagine fighting with my team," Penny said. "We're not very good friends, but I wouldn't want to hurt them at all."

"Artorias and I are friends," Gilderoy corrected, wincing again.

"Do friends fight?"

"Sometimes."

"Ruby, should we have a fight?"

"What – Penny, no!"

"So it's not a requirement of friendship?"

"Just a perk, I'm afraid."

The voice came from over Gilderoy's shoulder. Quiet, but stern. A tone that he wasn't used to hearing from such a voice – but one he recognised nonetheless.

He didn't turn to look.

"Are you alright, Artorias the Wolf Knight?"

"Penny, you don't have to-"

"Peachy," said Artorias.

"Peachy?" asked Penny.

"Fuzzy, soft, and sweet," explained Artorias.

"I see," said Penny.

"Penny, I think we should go," Ruby whispered.

"Are they going to have a friends-fight?"

Gilderoy didn't hear Ruby's response.

"Why'd you do it?"

The words rolled off Artorias' tongue, downwards to where Gilderoy sat frozen in his seat. He could almost feel a weight holding him down.

Artorias circled around the table. Two eyes, a tumultuous blue, were set in a face of stone.

"I wanted what's best for the team."

"What?"

"I'm trying to bring us together." Even if it might have drawn the lines a little more cleanly, at least they'd have all known where they stood.

"You don't even know, do you?"

It wasn't about him and Ciaran? "I don't think so, no."

"Quill, Ornstein."

"I didn't think it'd be a big deal."

The change was tangible, sudden, electrifying. A boulder shaped like a fist came crashing down onto the table. "It wasn't," growled Artorias. "Not until you made it one."

"Didn't Sun tell her about it too?"

"Nothing like that. Nothing that would make her – gods, nothing like that."

"I'm sorry-"

"It's a bit late for that now, isn't it?" Artorias turned his face away, his neck cracking as he did so, and massaged the bridge of his nose with one hand. The other, still clenched against the table, quaked erratically, the crown of knuckles whitening from the strain.

"Artorias, if this is eating at you, you need to-"

"Do what? Talk to someone? Fuck off, Ornstein – I'm fine – I don't regret it. It – you know what? It felt- I did what I had to do, and if you or anyone else thinks I should feel guilty about it you can go to whatever hell you believe in!"

"You feel-"

"Don't tell me how I feel. Actually – say it. Show me how wrong you are."

"You do feel guilty, don't you?"

The fist came crashing down again, putting a hole through the table.

"Artorias!"

Artorias wasn't listening, instead looking at his hand, uninjured due to aura. He clenched it into a fist again, then shut his eyes. His lips parted, and from the fissure emerged a sigh.

"It felt good," he muttered. He was so quiet that Gil strained to hear it.

Then, as quickly as he'd come, he left.

From the other side of the library, Penny had a question: "Is it a friendship-fighting ritual to damage furniture?"

/-/

Jaune stopped at a corner, white rose in hand. He felt a little stupid with it – odd, given all the other stupid things he'd done to ask out Weiss – but it also seemed appropriate. Something small. A tiny gesture to accompany heavy, meaningful words.

_You can do this. You've already done it; you just have to do it again._

"Neptune!"

_That's Weiss' voice!_

_Oh, right, Neptune's here._

"Oh, hey, what's up?"

_Do you think you have it, or do you know you have it?_

"I know this is a little… unorthodox, but I wanted to ask you something. Would you like to accompany me to the dance tomorrow?"

_Neptune has it._

"I – uh, Weiss, look, I like you. You're pretty cool, you know?"

How _dare_ he. Weiss was more than 'pretty cool' _._ She was amazing.

"Weiss… I'd like to, but I can't."

Jaune felt anger rising up within him; Weiss Schnee asked _Neptune_ to the dance, and he had the _gall_ to-

"Oh…" she sounded so despondent that such a little syllable shook Jaune to his core, his rage forgotten. That was how _he_ felt, every time she turned him down. "I- I think I understand."

"I'm... sorry, Weiss."

"So am I," she murmured quietly, so Jaune's ears strained to pick it up.

Footsteps walked away, and Jaune poked his head around the corner. Weiss was still there, just… standing. Crushed.

_I don't have it._

He closed his eyes for a second, steeling his resolve. He took a deep breath, then he turned the corner.

"Hey, Weiss."

She looked up at his approach. "Not now, Jaune."

"I'm not here to ask you out again," he said, honestly.

"The rose says otherwise."

He looked down at his hands. _Right. The rose._

"Well, I _was_ going to ask you to the dance," he admitted. "It was gonna involve a real big emotional speech from the heart, and probably some crying too. The crying would have been me, heh." He laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. Weiss was still eyeing him warily.

"I heard you and Neptune. I promise I wasn't eavesdropping on purpose, but you look like you need a friend."

"And you think we're friends?"

"Yup," said Jaune, popping the 'p'. "Not _great_ friends or anything, but I'm pretty sure you know me pretty well, and I'm pretty sure I know you at least a bit. That counts as friendship, right?"

Her eyes dropped down to the rose. He offered it to her, but she didn't take it.

"This isn't some ridiculous scheme?"

"Nah," said Jaune. "I- I think I'm done with all that."

There was a sharp intake of breath – on a normal human being, Jaune would have called it a snort, but Weiss was too dignified for such things. "What makes you say that? It's not like I'm spoken for," she said bitterly.

"If you're saying you're fine with me asking you out every other week, sure, I'll keep it up," Jaune chuckled. "It's not because of Neptune. I… got some advice. A lot of advice, actually."

"You were still planning on asking me to the dance not two minutes ago."

"That was the advice," he said. "Ask you out, and do it right. That, and give up if you said no again."

"What do you mean, do it right?"

Jaune recalled Artorias' words. "Well, I have a crush on you – no secret, right? Which means I see something in you that makes me want to be with you. But you don't see anything in me that makes you feel the same, which is either because it's there but I hide it, or because it just… isn't there. So, asking right meant to show you everything I was hiding. To… to be honest."

"And what were you hiding?"

"I don't think I was hiding anything, now. Well, nothing that would change your mind."

"Jaune," she said, and for the first time she looked him the eye and Jaune didn't see pity, or anger, or irritation. She reached out a hand for the rose, and Jaune gave it to her. "Tell me. Please."

Jauen made to shake his head, but her voice echoed somewhere in his thoughts – that single, pained, "Oh," she'd said when Neptune had turned her down.

He looked down, cleared his throat, gathered himself, then looked back up. "Weiss Schnee, I think you're an incredible person. You're smart, you're graceful, and you have a wonderful voice." A wistful half-smile was on her face, and Jaune pressed on. "And you're cold. Untouchable, in a way – yet here you are. And when I'm around you, I can hear my heart beating in my head, and I'm out of breath like I've run a thousand miles, and it's _exhausting_ , let me tell you – but it's exhilarating too."

There was a long pause. Weiss' eyes were closed, but he could almost see the thoughts whirling around in her head.

Finally, she spoke. "Thank you, Jaune." She'd never thanked him like that before – without any sarcasm, without a scathing, hidden barb tacked on. "That's… very kind of you."

Not knowing what else to do, he shrugged.

"All that, and you're giving up?"

"Would you rather I didn't?"

"No," she said hurriedly. "But… I guess it was good advice. If you're finally over it."

Over it? Jaune wasn't so sure about that. But done? Certainly.

She held the flower to her nose, breathing deeply. "Bye, Jaune," she said.

Jaune shut his eyes. He didn't want to see her walk away.

/-/

It felt good to move.

Artorias' fists slammed again and again into the punching bag. He knew he wasn't training very well – his blows too aggressive, lacking control – but the point of the exercise wasn't exactly to refine his skills.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered that the door to the training room had been opened. But he didn't look to see who had come in. Probably Ciaran – or perhaps Gough, if he wasn't still worrying about his brother.

But then there was a rasp of steel, of a blade being drawn, and he knew it wasn't either of them – Ciaran was never so loud, and Gough didn't exactly carry anything resembling a sword.

He breathed deeply and steadied the punching bag, then wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm.

He felt a little better, truth be told, though he had no desire to talk it out with Gilderoy just yet. Violence was therapeutic – it just wasn't a good idea to take it out on other people.

Mostly.

He took another deep breath, allowing a calm to settle over him, and turned to look at the newcomer.

It was Jaune. He was doing some drill or other, doubtless taught to him by Pyrrha – sequences of basic strikes. Artorias shrugged and moved over to the bleachers to watch.

Jaune's form wasn't great. Not that Artorias was a teacher or a drillmaster or anything – but it was obvious even to him that Jaune's movements were suited more to a shorter weapon, to a lighter shield. He held his shield a little too low, and he didn't use the weight of his blade to its full potential, nor all the tools at his disposal.

"I thought you trained with Pyrrha," Artorias called, in a brief break between drills.

Jaune hardly glanced at him. "I like to get some practice in," he said. "And… I need to blow off some steam."

Artorias nodded. "How'd it go?"

Jaune swung a few more times, his face a vision of concentration. "I didn't ask."

"Good."

"Good?"

"Good," he repeated.

Jaune's weapons slumped to his side. "I guess so."

"Want to talk about it?"

"I think I'm good."

"Good?" Artorias mocked. Jaune just looked at him oddly, and the wolf waved him off.

"Your form is sloppy," he pointed out, changing the topic.

"Huh?"

"Stance, form, whatever, all that. It's not suited for your kind of weaponry."

"But Pyrrha-"

"Taught you as she was taught – or so I assume. For a shorter sword and for a smaller shield." Artorias jumped to his feet, grabbing his sword from where it lay next to him.

"I've improved."

"No surprise. It'll work for you, but you won't get much further with it. Now," said Artorias, walking over to the duelling area, "what weapons do you have?"

"Uh, a sword and shield?"

"Try again," Artorias said.

"…sword and shield?"

Artorias rolled his eyes and dashed forward, bringing a powerful left-handed punch to bear against the blond. Jaune brought his shield up just in time, although the force of the blow sent him skidding backwards.

"Good," Artorias said. "Tell me what I just did."

"You punched me."

"I used my gauntlet as a weapon. What weapons do you have, Jaune?"

He could pinpoint the moment it clicked for the younger boy. "A sword, a shield, and a sheath."

"There we go," he said. "With a little practice, you can use that to deflect a blow just as well as your shield anyway. But you can also smack people with it. That's the fun part."

"Don't I need to practice with a shield anyway?"

"Not my job to fix bad habits," Artorias shrugged. Maybe – just _maybe_ – if Jaune asked him, he'd put in the time to help out on that account. "You're gonna learn to use that sheath, though. Experience is the best teacher and all that, so here's the deal. We spar, reset on knockdown, and if I see you turn that thing back into a shield I'm taking you up to the roof to test your landing strategy."

"I didn't volunteer for this."

"Look, I want to blow off steam too," he admitted. "Indulge me? You'll get something out of it too, I promise."

"What happened with you?"

"Nothing you need to worry about. Ready?"

"Fine. But-"

Artorias rolled his eyes and unleashed a flurry of attacks. Caught off-guard, Jaune took the first blow standing, before recovering his wits and diving to the side. Coming to his feet, he seemed a little lost without a shield to hide behind, but with no small effort, he managed to parry the next few strikes with his sword. Artorias began aiming for holes in the boy's defenses, putting him on the back foot.

"Use the sheath," he commanded, lunging past Jaune's guard.

The blond twisted awkwardly to dodge the strike, and Artorias capitalized with a leg sweep. To his surprise, the boy managed to dance over his leg, spinning mid-air and chambering a counter-attack. Artorias batted the blade away easily with his left hand, but was thrown off balance when the heavy sheath slammed into his overextended arm.

He moved with the momentum, falling into a roll and alighting on his feet not a moment later. Jaune's sword was already poised to strike, and he brought it crashing down towards the wolf. Artorias parried Jaune's sword with his own, then caught the sheath with his left hand as it came flying towards his face. With it, he pulled Jaune in close and slammed the pommel of his own weapon into the boy's chest, sending the blond sprawling to the ground.

"Better," he said, offering a hand. "Again."

/-/

_Dear Priscilla,_

_Does Father read these before you? I guess we'll find out, won't we?_

_I leave for Mistral tomorrow, but this morning the Witch brought me to Forever Fall. It's a rare place, completely untamed by humanity. Grimm still roam there._

_It wasn't an issue of course, or I wouldn't be able to write this. They're not particularly old or dangerous Grimm._

_She asked me to call her by name, though I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that – even Father asks us to call him Lord in public. She had a lot to say about him, too._

_He still hoards precious pearls, doesn't he? I've always thought it a strange obsession, perhaps even greedy, but I've never thought it a particularly bad thing. He is not a thief, nor a murderer, nor a con-artist._

_Ironic, I suppose._

_I digress. It's interesting to see another perspective, though Salem's perspective is surely coloured. I doubt I'll ever know what their history is together. I'm glad she hasn't let it ruin our friendship, though. I wouldn't mind spending more time in Vale. Perhaps you could join us next time._

_Your brother._

_I love you, little Yorshka._


	13. Dance Dance Infiltration

The next morning, Yang was pleasantly surprised to see that, rather than falling asleep in front of a terminal at the library (as she'd done quite frequently since their last run-in with Torchwick), Blake had returned to the dorm that night. What's more, she was sleeping in. Yang doubted that Blake had much choice in the matter – she'd looked so exhausted the other day that Yang had half expected the faunus to fall asleep during their little heart-to-heart.

Without a word, Ruby, Weiss, and Yang all agreed not to wake her, and together they slipped into the corridor as quietly as they could, making their way towards the cafeteria for breakfast.

"What did you say to her?" Ruby asked, heaping strawberries onto her cereal.

"Eh, nothing you need to worry about," Yang said. She ruffled her sister's hair, causing Ruby to blush with embarrassment.

" _Yaaaang,_ " she complained.

The actual consumption-of-food part of breakfast was a muted affair that day. Ruby dug in to her breakfast with gusto, devouring it in barely a minute before departing, saying she wanted to check on Blake. Weiss kept to herself, hardly picking at her food.

"You alright, Weiss-cream?"

"I'm fine."

"Sure," said Yang. Unless she got really bad – like Blake had – Yang wouldn't push her.

"So," said Yang, gnawing at a rasher of bacon, "you going with anyone to the dance?"

Weiss looked up, apparently startled out of her stupor. "I, well, we've got too much going on to care about boys, Yang. Right?"

"Don't ask me," Yang said.

"Right," she said. _Man, she's really out of it,_ Yang thought, watching Weiss go back to pushing her scrambled eggs aimlessly about her plate.

"Weiss-"

"What?" The heiress snapped, looking up again. _Woah, chill out, Ice Queen._

"We've got to get to the hall today. There's some last-minute stuff we've gotta sort out."

"…of course," said Weiss. Apparently, the offer of a job to focus on was enough to snap her out of it. Yang wouldn't say that Weiss wolfed her food down – the word implied a lack of dignity after all – but Weiss certainly ate quickly.

/-/

The kick of the gun's recoil sent a satisfying shock running along Ciaran's arm. Ruby's advice was good – guns _were_ fun. She could recall the first time she'd ever held one, years and years ago. She hadn't liked them much back then.

But now? Oh, this thing was fun.

She didn't have to look too closely to see that all six of her shots were on target. It hadn't taken long to get used to the revolver, though she suspected she'd be a little less accurate in the middle of a fight, what with her highly mobile style. But that was a hurdle for another day.

"I still prefer a bow," Gough said, sitting behind her, "though I won't deny guns are effective."

"Your kind of bow is a little too big for me."

"You could get a little one," suggested Gough. "A little bow for a little person."

"Just because you're so damn tall-"

"Just because I'm so tall," Gough agreed, laughing.

Ciaran shook her head, a small smile on her face. "So, how'd it go with equally-tall but more-broody?"

"I'm not too worried. Smough asked me to let him speak to Gilderoy in person, however. One would assume that means to not say anything to you, either."

 _Lame._ "Understandable," Ciaran said, ignoring her inner Artorias. "Did Artorias come back last night?"

"If he did, he was gone again by the time I woke up," said Gough. "You gave me time to sort things out with Smough. I think we should do him the same courtesy."

"This is different. This is with a teammate."

"True," said Gough.

"Gilderoy said he was angrier than he'd ever been. Even when Smough-"

"I assure you, I'm just as worried as you are. But Artorias doesn't let much get him down. We'll give him time."

"Gough, it was about Quill. He's had two years."

"Not everybody is suited to killing. I imagine Quill's death weighs on his conscience. Isn't that a good thing?"

"Not if he gets like this every time it's brought up."

Gough shifted. "Perhaps. I would still advise patience."

"I'll consider your advice."

"You won't follow it though, I'm sure."

"I'm considering it."

/-/

Winter Schnee returned to her office and shut the door behind her, letting out a pent-up sigh of relief. Navigating the minefield of Atlesian politics was never a problem – but talking to scientists was another matter entirely.

She cleared her thoughts and strode over to her desk. Politics could wait.

Artorias' contact details came up on her terminal, and she dialed his number. He answered almost immediately.

"I got your message," she said. "What's the emergency?"

" _Does there have to be an emergency?"_ he said, smirking, though it didn't reach his eyes.

"You don't tell someone to call them ASAP at three in the morning unless it's important."

" _And you don't put off calling someone who asked you to call them ASAP at three in the morning until ten in the morning unless you don't think it could possibly be that important."_

"I had a meeting," she said, following Artorias' verbal mess with ease. "So – what's the emergency?"

" _There's no emergency."_

"I doubt it." She peered closer at the screen – there were bags under his eyes, and his hair was even more disheveled than usual. "You don't look well, Artorias."

" _Excuse you, I look fabulous."_ At least he retained his wit.

"You don't look well," Winter repeated. "Did Gilderoy ban you from your bed?"

He winced. _"Close."_

"How you don't class this as an emergency is beyond me. I thought you valued sleep above… well, above anything."

" _At least you admit that some things are beyond you."_

"Stop avoiding the problem. What happened?"

" _I don't want to talk about it."_

"Clearly you do, or you wouldn't have asked me to call."

" _Believe me, I don't."_

Winter resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. "You're acting like a child."

" _When am I not?"_

"If you don't want to talk about it, why call?"

" _You called me."_

Despite herself, she rolled her eyes. "At your behest, you boob."

" _Semantics."_ He couldn't keep a straight face, and looked away for a second, chuckling.

"I have to leave for another meeting in-" she checked the clock- "nine minutes, Artorias."

" _Oh? Who're you blowing me off for?"_

"An overly self-important councilman by the name of Sulyvahn." It wasn't exactly classified, after all. The councilman had requested a briefing on the projects of the military's research and development division. Ideally, R&D would have sent their own representative, but Doctor Polendina refused to let any of his own people speak to Sulyvahn, and was too terrified of the councilman to do it himself.

And so, a specialist had been assigned. General Ironwood was annoyingly lenient towards Doctor Polendina's… quirks.

" _The religious guy?"_ Artorias asked. Sulyvahn was also, officially speaking, the head of the Church of the Deep, though he had such a small following that it hardly mattered.

"Hence the self-importance."

" _Sounds boring."_

Winter couldn't bring herself to object.

Artorias sighed, and it was as though a façade fell away – he'd seemed tired before, but now he looked downright haggard. _"Look – I was just wondering… what are things like between you and your father?"_

"Excuse me?" On one hand – it was a somewhat personal question that she wasn't sure she was willing to answer honestly. And on the other – it had come completely out of nowhere.

" _You don't have to answer that,"_ he said. _"I mean, really. I'm just – I don't know, I'm curious._

"Why?"

" _Please?"_

"You're going to have to do better than that."

" _You don't want anything to do with him, do you? Yet, at the same time, you enjoy seeing him fail, seeing him in pain. Am I close?"_

Winter was silent.

" _Am I close?"_ he asked again.

"If you look behind you, way off in the distance, you might see a line that you shouldn't have crossed."

" _Isn't it weird, though? You wouldn't wish hell on a stranger. But someone who cuts you out of their life – they may as well be a stranger, but you'd just_ love _to see them burn. That's the only difference."_

"Artorias, you're exhausted. Apologise, and I'll forget you said any of that," Winter said.

" _How gracious."_

"Aren't I just?"

" _Was I close?"_

"Why is this so important to you?"

He grimaced, and cast his eyes skyward, then, after a moment's deliberation said, _"Because I want to know that you understand how I feel."_

"About whom? Gilderoy?"

" _No. It doesn't matter."_

"Clearly it does matter."

" _Maybe. But – look, forget I asked. I'm sorry."_

Winter sighed. "For what it's worth, I do understand."

The shadow of a smile passed over Artorias' face, and he hung his head. Then he looked back up, and he was smirking like the fool he always pretended to be. _"Tell what's-his-face that I said he's really boring."_

"I doubt Councilman Sulyvahn cares much for your opinion."

" _Self-important indeed,"_ Artorias snorted. _"Thanks, Winter. I mean it."_

"Don't push your luck," she warned. "Until next time."

Artorias' face disappeared from the screen, and all that was left was Winter's own reflection staring back at her, stern as ever.

/-/

The day passed, as days do, and night followed (as nights do), and so Gilderoy found himself at the dance quite alone. Ciaran and Gough were dancing, and seemed to be having a rather good time of it too (though it was a rather odd sight, what with Gough being over twice her height). Gilderoy didn't want to interrupt. But they certainly cleaned up nicely, Gough in his extra-large-tuxedo for extra-large-people, and Ciaran in her silver gown.

"Salutations, friend Gilderoy!"

He turned away from the dancers, his eyes halting on the grinning face that was a little too close to his own for comfort, flanked by two Atlas soldiers.

"Evening, Penny."

"I hope I'm not being too presumptuous in calling you friend, but Ruby says that a friend is someone you trust and you enjoy talking to and spending time with. Do you consider us to be friends too?"

"Nothing about destroying furniture in there?"

"She said that was only for people like Artorias and Yang. Are you like Artorias or Yang?"

Gilderoy shook his head. "Not in that sense. Sure. We're friends."

Her already bright smile broadened even further. "Wonderful!" She glanced from side to side, to the Atlas soldiers at her sides, then leaned in closer and quietly asked, "Could you paint my nails some time?"

Gilderoy had absolutely no experience in painting nails. "Sure," he said. "Why not?"

"Splendid! I asked General Ironwood once, but he said," and here Penny's voice changed to emulate the General's almost perfectly, "I have an awful lot on my plate right now, but I could assign a specialist to the task."

"He has nail-painting specialists?"

She seemed taken aback. "I never thought of that! I assumed he meant his military Specialists. Do _you_ think he has nail-painting specialists?"

"I think it's unlikely," Gilderoy said, but on seeing her crestfallen face he made an amendment. "But it's certainly possible."

"Well then – next time he offers their services, I'll take him up on it and find out!"

From there, they fell into an easy rapport. Penny did much of the talking – asking if he'd like to try on clothes some time (to which he politely said no) or talk about cute boys (to which he grudgingly acquiesced, and they spent some time discussing the wonderful cheekbones and jawline of a suave young lad with blue hair whose profile was ruined, in their opinion, by the goggles atop his head).

It felt good.

Ciaran was quiet – not unlike himself, and it was easy for their conversations to fall into silence. He had no problem with that, but he had to admit, he was a little jealous of how easily she and Artorias could pick up a discussion, argue, and then move on like it was nothing.

Gough – while always a fountain of wisdom – had little desire for small talk.

And Artorias was difficult to talk to at the best of times. As was Smough – these days, at least. He was still waiting on a call from the older Iris brother.

But Penny? It was easy to talk to her. And it was easy to listen to her, even if she could, at times, be quite strange.

/-/

Artorias made it halfway to the punch bowl before somebody tapped him on the shoulder.

"Professor Goodwitch tells me she had to repair a desk in the library."

The wolf faunus turned to see Professor Ozpin watching him, one hand resting on his cane and the other holding a coffee mug (though where he'd procured the coffee at such an event, Artorias had no idea).

"Did she now?"

"Not much happens in my school without my knowing it," Ozpin said.

It took Artorias a moment to place where he'd heard that before. "So – did June steal that line from you? Or did you take it from her?"

"Neither," said Ozpin. He sipped at his coffee. "We both borrowed it from a mutual acquaintance."

"Anyone I know?"

"Possibly," said Ozpin, though he offered no further explanation. "I hear that you and Mr Ornstein had an argument about 'Quill'. Arthur Quill, I presume."

"You heard from…?"

"Like I said," said Ozpin, "not much happens-"

"- in your school without your knowing of it, yeah, I get it," Artorias said. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"But I do," said Ozpin.

"Good for you."

"Do you regret it?"

Artorias sensed that Ozpin wouldn't let him go without an answer, and he couldn't exactly argue with the headmaster the same way he argued with Gilderoy. "The argument or Quill?" he hedged.

"Quill."

"No," said Artorias. "I don't."

"Are you aware that the report says his death was an accident?"

"No," said Artorias. Winter was to thank for that, he was sure.

Ozpin nodded. "You would do it again, if you were given the choice?"

"Yes."

"Interesting." Ozpin sipped at his coffee. "Have you and Mr Ornstein resolved your differences yet?" He gestured towards the red-haired Huntsman, deep in conversation with Penny. Artorias was amused to see that Gilderoy was still wearing his dust-embroidered coat over his suit. A little tacky, perhaps, but not a bad look overall.

"No."

"I suggest you do. If you could pass on a message for me – I'd like to see Mr Ornstein in my office tomorrow morning before you all receive your missions."

"You could tell him yourself."

"Alternatively, you could face your problems. Think on it. Oh – and I'd greatly appreciate it if you didn't spike the punch, Mr Nym."

Artorias patted the flask in his pocket, hardly even surprised that Ozpin had noticed it. "You really think I'd waste this on everyone else? This is for me."

Ozpin smiled a little. "I'd suggest that you speak to your partner while you're still sober. But, either way – please drink responsibly." He went to sip at his coffee, then, seeing that his mug was empty, he placed it down on the table before striding off in Ruby's direction.

Artorias breathed a sigh of relief, then finished his journey to the punch table, grabbing a glass and adding just a tiny bit of whiskey to his drink.

/-/

"Oh, hey Weiss," said Neptune as she approached. How could he seem so… at ease?

"Weiss and Yang set this up pretty much all on their own," Blake told him.

"Wait, seriously?" Sun said, "that's crazy! This party's awesome. I mean, dress code aside." He tugged at his tie.

"You agreed, Sun," Neptune told him. "Keep the tie."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it, I'm doing it."

"Neptune," said Weiss, mustering her courage, "could we talk in private?"

He glanced at Sun and Blake. Sun gave him a pointed look in return.

"Yeah, sure," said Neptune.

She took his hand – looking to him for permission first – and led him upstairs towards the balcony, feeling Blake's eyes watching her curiously as they left.

"Hey, uh, Weiss, so, I just wanted to say – no hard feelings, right? We're cool?"

"We're 'cool'," said Weiss, grimacing at the word. "I just…" she thought back to what Jaune had said – _ask you out, and do it right_ – "I wanted to ask if you want to dance. Nothing more."

Neptune pursed his lips. "Yeah… about that. I – uh, I just-"

"Neptune, I enjoy your company. I enjoy talking to you. You have interesting perspectives on things, and I enjoy debating them with you. And – if I may be so bold – you look really good." Smoking, in fact, though such compliments were better said by people like Yang.

"I try very hard."

"I understand if you don't think of me the same way, but either way I would like to spend more time with you, and given that this is a dance, I would greatly appreciate it if you and I could-"

"I can't dance."

Weiss stopped in her tracks. "Excuse me?"

"I can't dance," repeated Neptune. "Like – you know that story about the really bad dancer who tripped over literally everything and set a church on fire? I mean, that part's not important, but the point is – I'm a _really_ bad dancer."

"You're that bad?"

"I mean, there's no candles here, so the fire's not likely, but yeah, I'm that bad."

"Oh."

"Weiss – look, I mean, you're pretty cool. If this had been literally anything other than a dance, I'd probably have said yes."

"And you didn't explain this because…"

"Because I didn't want to rock up and suck at dancing and embarrass you."

"You mean embarrass yourself?"

"That too, yeah."

Weiss glanced around the balcony – nobody else was there, except for Jaune in the doorway, ushering Pyrrha back down the steps. The blond turned to offer Weiss a thumbs-up, then he disappeared after his leader.

She smiled.

"Is this one of those situations?" she asked.

"Hmm?"

"Where you'd let the team down?"

He shrugged. "It's not the team I'm letting down, is it?"

"I could teach you," she said. "It's not that difficult. And nobody is watching."

"You're risking a broken leg here."

Weiss shook her head and stepped closer, moving Neptune's left hand to her waist and holding the other, placing her right hand on his shoulder. "I'll lead. Just… focus on not stepping on my feet, and you'll pick it up quickly enough."

The music floated up from below, and Weiss moved in time, one foot after the other. Neptune wasn't lying – he was a terrible dancer, and tensed up in her arms, but after a few bars he seemed to relax.

Everything was perfect.

/-/

"Haven't seen you all day."

Artorias, leaning against the railing and looking down over the crowd, didn't bother turning to look. He'd seen Ciaran ditch Gough to come talk to him. Gough was now talking to… was that General Ironwood?

Huh.

"I've been busy."

"Doing what?"

"Homework."

"You don't have any."

"And I wouldn't be doing it anyway." He sighed and looked over to her, resplendent in the silver gown she'd bought just yesterday, before everything had fallen into a mess. "You look good, by the way."

"Asskisser. You look good too, fine, have the compliment." Artorias looked down – dark blue waistcoat, white dress shirt, black pants.

"Very generous of you," he said.

Ciaran sighed. "You should talk to him."

"I will."

"You will?"

"Tonight, in fact."

"Now isn't the time for jokes, Artorias."

"No, I'm serious." The headmaster had more-or-less decreed that he'd have to, after all.

"Then go do it."

Artorias looked over the railing. Gilderoy was deep in conversation with Penny.

"Later, maybe?"

"I could bring him up here, if that'd make things easier for you. I want this sorted out just as much as you do."

"Probably more," he said. "Sure. Go get him. Thanks, C."

"Don't run away?"

"Won't be running away," he confirmed. His keen eyes picked out Jaune, hurrying out the door of the hall. Hadn't he been talking to Pyrrha?

Hopefully he'd be back soon. In a dress.

/-/

Jaune rushed outside, his mind racing.

Pyrrha had said – her exact words – _love._ She _loved_ him.

Not like a brother or like a close friend or anything. _Love_ kind of love.

And he had no idea what to do.

It wasn't like Pyrrha wasn't attractive. She was beautiful. She was gorgeous. But she was also _Pyrrha Nikos_ , his mentor, a champion, a legend. And even if she wasn't all of those things, Jaune wasn't sure he felt the same way anyway.

Sure, he'd let go of Weiss, in a sense. He'd given up on that dream. But, having grown up with seven sisters, he'd seen _so_ many romance movies – wasn't the 'rebound' supposed to be a really bad idea? Not that it was technically a rebound, given that he'd never actually been on a date with Weiss, but it was the same concept, dammit. The relationship you rush into after losing someone else.

At least he hadn't panicked. He hadn't said anything he'd regret, anything that'd alienate Pyrrha forever – he'd said he'd need time to think, and _then_ he'd panicked. And now here he was, alone, outside the warm glow of the party, with only an unconscious (or, perhaps, dead) Atlesian soldier in the bushes to keep him company.

_Hold up._

He knelt and checked the soldier's pulse – he was still alive. That was a good start.

Then he stood, looking around – there, close to the door to the CCT tower, another soldier, unconscious.

Jaune wasn't stupid. If there was someone skilled enough to take out numerous sentries without anybody noticing (except for him, but wasn't that an outlier?), he probably didn't stand much of a chance against them.

He pulled out his scroll and called for his locker, then switched to his contacts list – he was pretty sure he had Professor Goodwitch's number.

After searching for a few seconds around the 'G' section of the list, it turned out he did not, in fact, have her number.

He could call Ruby – but then, he'd seen her struggling in her heels. She couldn't even dance, let alone fight.

Or perhaps Pyrrha? But no – bad idea, especially after… that.

Ren? He was with Nora. Nora? She was with Ren. Both? Eh, Nora was too loud – she'd tip off the intruder instantly. Weiss, maybe? No – better not to interrupt her thing with Neptune.

Or…

He sent a quick text, then moved to collect his own equipment.

A few seconds later, Artorias came strolling out the doors, flask in hand. "Dude, if you need a dress I could probably, uh, 'borrow' Ciaran's… combat skirt."

"Call your locker," said Jaune, pointing to the unconscious soldier. "There's an intruder in the CCT tower."

Artorias took one look at the soldier, took a long swig from his flask, sighed, and pulled his scroll out.

"Ciaran's gonna be _so_ mad at me," he muttered. He pocketed the flask, shoved his gauntlet onto his left hand, grabbed his dagger and hefted his sword onto his shoulder.

Jaune let Artorias take the lead. The lobby on the ground floor – it too was full of unconscious soldiers.

"Who-"

Artorias hushed him. "It's pointless asking questions until the intruder is dealt with."

Jaune nodded. Artorias circled the room. "It's clear. We'll try the communications room."

They called the elevator – when it arrived and the doors opened for them, there were two guards there, already unconscious.

Artorias held out his flask. "Want some?"

"What is it?"

"Whiskey."

"I don't think it'll help me fight."

"Not the point," said Artorias, but he shrugged and put it back in his pocket.

The doors opened. The room was dark, lit only by the green monitors – but, he hoped, Artorias would be able to see. He looked to the wolf faunus, who was holding a finger to his lips. He then pointed to one of the terminals, and gestured for Jaune to circle around.

"I can see you," Artorias called.

Nothing moved.

In the near-perfect silence, Jaune heard Artorias sighing – then a little 'pop' – the sound of the cap of his flask coming off – then liquid sloshing about, presumably as he raised it to his lips…

There.

A figure leapt up from behind the terminal. Glowing crystals flew from a tube in its hand, lighting up the room – it was a woman. Jaune saw Artorias flick his wrist, spilling the whiskey towards her in an attempt to blind her. Alcohol met burning-hot dust mid-air. The explosion seemed to engulf both Artorias and the intruder, and would have singed off Jaune's eyebrows were it not for his aura.

Vaguely, Jaune was aware of Artorias calling his name, and he took the cue to charge in, sword raised and shield up – now was not the time to experiment with different styles, after all. He swung, once, twice, the masked woman dodging both attacks, then she leapt backwards, a bow forming in her hands as though from shards of glass.

"Move!" Artorias tackled him to the ground and the arrows flew overhead, missing them by a metre or more. Lucky for him, as it happened – he'd intended to catch them on his shield, but as they struck the ground they exploded.

Artorias was somehow already on his feet again. Even slightly inebriated, Artorias managed to drive the woman back, every step a blow and every blow a step, until, her back to the window, it appeared the woman had nowhere else to go, not even blocking Artorias' strikes but merely slanting them away. But then – Artorias' fist came flying in from the left, and the woman dived under his overextended arm, letting it slam into the window at something resembling terminal velocity.

The window shattered.

Artorias whirled around, blade streaking towards the woman, and she leapt over it, planting her feet on his chest and using him as a base to propel herself through the broken window.

The elevator opened again, and James Ironwood stepped out over his unconscious soldiers, weapon at the ready.

"What happened here?"

Artorias was already on his feet, leaning out the window. "She got away is what happened," he growled.

"I saw that some of the sentries were unconscious and called for backup," Jaune explained. "There was an intruder."

Ironwood nodded and holstered his… gun. Whatever kind of gun it was. Maybe Ruby would know?

"My men will secure the area. I need you both to tell me everything."

"I need to get back to my team," said Artorias.

"I understand that this is a social event. I won't keep you long. We can have a more detailed debriefing in the morning."

"Masked woman, glowy-clothes, dark hair. She fought with a bow and exploding arrows. Whatever it was she was doing up here, she was done by the time we arrived," Jaune summarised.

"And she had amber eyes," Artorias added. "And the bow turned into two swords. Need anything else?"

Ironwood pursed his lips. "Did she say anything?"

"No," said Artorias shortly. "We done?"

Ironwood sighed. "I suppose we are. You'll be provided times and a location for the full debriefing on your scrolls."

Jaune followed Artorias into the elevator, stepping over the unconscious guards again.

"I'd appreciate it if you moved them out of the elevator, at the very least," Ironwood said.

Artorias rolled his eyes and pressed the button for the ground floor. "You'd better go find a dress."

/-/

"He's not answering his scroll," said Ciaran.

"It's probably important. I wouldn't worry. He doesn't lie, at least to you," assured Gilderoy. Strange that he was the one doing the reassuring.

"He said he'd stay-"

"-right here, never moved, nothing happened," said Artorias. Gilderoy almost jumped out of his skin – he hadn't heard his partner sneak up on them.

"Where have you been?" asked Ciaran, her brow furrowing threateningly. It was fairly obvious to Gilderoy - he had his weapons with him after all.

"Relax. It was an emergency. Nothing important."

"A little contradictory," Gilderoy pointed out.

"A lot contradictory," Artorias agreed.

Ciaran sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Well, as long as you're here…"

"Yeah. Uh, could you give us some privacy, C?"

"This is a party."

"Relative privacy. It's not like they'll be eavesdropping or anything." He gestured to the dancers below.

"Fine. Fix this," she commanded.

"We got it," Gilderoy said.

She nodded once and gave Artorias a little glare before departing.

"I really am sorry I ditched."

"What happened?"

"It's probably classified," he shrugged. "Intruder in the CCT."

Gilderoy nodded in acceptance, and leaned against the railing. Ciaran had gone to talk with Gough and Ruby, he noticed. Chances were, their conversation was a little more lighthearted than their own was about to become.

"Ozpin wants to see you tomorrow morning."

"Does he?"

"Thought I'd get that out of the way first. You know, in case this goes south." Artorias leaned against the railing next to him. "So."

"So," Gilderoy agreed.

Artorias offered him a flask. "When did you get that?" he asked.

"Today. Impulse purchase."

Gilderoy sighed, took it, and went for a swig – but it was empty. He passed it back.

"Oh yeah," Artorias said. "Swear I didn't drink it all myself."

"Yeah?"

"Alcohol is a weapon now. Didn't you hear? The latest in Grimm-hunting fashion."

Gilderoy shook his head. "Are you ready to hear me out?"

"More-or-less."

"I told your mother because she asked, and because I thought she deserved to know. Taking a life – that's not a small thing."

"And yet you always – _always_ – make light of it," Artorias pointed out. "Every time you want me to feel bad, that's the thing you bring up."

"You said you didn't feel guilty about it."

"I don't," Artorias said. "Doesn't mean I like it." He turned his body towards Gilderoy, bracing one arm against the railing. "Look… you're right, I guess."

"About?"

"Mum deserved to know. I'm a selfish person, Gil. I've always been pretty selfish. I didn't want her to confront me about it. I guess it was going to happen sooner or later anyway. I'm sorry I took it out on you."

"You're not selfish."

"No?" He laughed a little. "If something doesn't go my way, I have a little whine about it. Sometimes I mean it, sometimes I don't. I'm petty and I'm selfish, and I _like_ being petty and selfish. I want you to abandon your dreams because I like Vacuo the way it is. If that's not selfish…"

"Well, at least you selfishly want to save lives from the creatures of Grimm."

"Cheers to that," he said, almost lifting his flask before remembering it was empty. "So. Why'd you go behind my back in the first place?"

"You don't know?"

"Why would I?"

"I thought she would have told you."

"What?"

Gilderoy explained the circumstances – how he and Gough had been planning to push Artorias and Ciaran together for the dance, how the job had fallen to him when Gough had been called by Smough, how he'd approached Miss Nym that morning and asked her to invite Team GWIN out for lunch.

Artorias laughed the whole way through.

"Me and Ciaran?" he crowed.

"I mean, I thought-"

"You know, just because I had a crush on her – what, two years ago? Come on."

"It wasn't about that." Gilderoy tried to rephrase it – it wasn't about playing matchmaker, just… friend-improver. If that was a thing.

"You went to my mother to try and pair me up with Ciaran?" He started cackling again.

"Yeah… it was stupid."

"Really stupid."

Artorias took a while to calm down – probably not helped by the fact that he was at least a little bit tipsy. "So. We're cool?"

Gilderoy nodded. "We're cool."

"You know, as completely fucked as this thing we've got going is – I wouldn't trade it for anything."

"I would," admitted Gilderoy. "I hate fighting with you. You understand that, right? Arguing isn't a good thing."

"I'm hurt," said Artorias, though his grin said otherwise. "It can be fun. Just as long as you don't take everything so seriously."

"You don't take anything seriously," Gilderoy said, ignoring the fact that Artorias had taken Quill very seriously.

"My point exactly. Lighten up, Gil. It's good for you."

Then Artorias turned back to look at the crowd, and broke out laughing again, pointing one finger into the crowd. Gilderoy followed it, to see a tall young man with blond hair.

He was also wearing a dress.

Gilderoy snickered.


	14. Field Trip

"I'd give you pretty much the exact same advice as last time."

"Ask her out?"

"Be honest, and be open. That part. Okay, maybe not the _exact_ same advice, but it's the same principle, right?" Artorias shrugged.

That had been Ren's recommendation as well, more-or-less, when he'd confided in him on their way back from the dance. Honest and open, huh? Jaune didn't know how he felt in the first place, much less how to put it into words.

Nora's advice, on the other hand, had been to ask Pyrrha out – her justification being that they could then go on double-dates (but not actually dates, she was quick to point out, because she and Ren weren't actually dating or anything).

Sometimes he wondered about those two…

"Jaune?"

"Huh?"

"Think you forgot how to use your feet."

Jaune looked down – indeed, he'd stopped walking. "Right. Sorry. I was thinking." He cleared his mind as best he could and set off again towards Ozpin's office. It'd been lucky, really, that he'd had to get out of the dorm so early. It meant he could avoid Pyrrha for just a little bit longer, and god knew he needed the time to think.

"So – what'd she say? Exact words, I mean."

" _I think I'm in love with you,"_ Jaune recited. The words were practically engrained in his mind.

The dress had been something of a last resort – he'd thought it'd be a way to express sympathy that she'd been dateless that night (including the option of himself as a date), but also a way to say that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

Because that was the truth. No idea. Zip. Nothing at all.

Artorias rubbed his chin. "No lead-up or anything? Just straight into it, huh?"

"Just… straight into it."

"Damn. And then you said…?"

"I think I said I'd take her word for it," Jaune admitted. Not his best, he'd freely admit – but it had taken another minute or so for him to realise what it was she was saying.

Artorias snorted. "Nice. Then what'd she say?"

"She kinda went full confession mode. She said she felt normal when she was around me."

"Ouch."

"No – not like that. She's just – you know, she's kind of a celebrity?"

Artorias looked at him sidelong, one eyebrow raised. "I think I missed something here."

"She won some big tournament in Mistral a bunch of times, I dunno. Oh, she's also the girl on the Pumpkin Pete's box," Jaune explained.

Artorias pursed his lips, his brow furrowing in thought. "Mistral Regional?"

"Sounds right, I think. Wait, do you not have Pumpkin Pete's in Vacuo?"

"I grew up in Vale," Artorias reminded him offhandedly. "I mean, no, we don't really have anything big-brand. Well, aside from Schnee Dust, but even that's not particularly high profile. Hey – did you hear about the time they tried to sell their stupid toothpaste in Vacuo?"

Jaune hummed in thought. "At the last Vytal Festival, right?" Unless he was mistaken, there had been a massive advertising campaign for Shi-nee toothpaste. Billboards, posters, commercials – if they could stick their logo on it, they did.

It seemed like a bit too much effort just to sell toothpaste, especially seeing how poorly it had worked for them.

"Yup," Artorias said.

"Didn't people deface the billboards?"

"Defaced?" He shook his head. "Sun and I _improved_ those billboards, thank you very much," Artorias said proudly.

"No way. That was you?"

"Most of them. Obviously, some other people had the same idea, but there were plenty to go around, so it didn't matter much."

"Did you ever get caught?"

"Give me some credit, man. Okay, actually, yeah, I got caught _once._ But I got off pretty light."

They stepped into the elevator and tapped the button for Ozpin's office. "So…"

"So?" Artorias raised an eyebrow.

"I still need to work out what to say to Pyrrha."

"You'll figure it out," Artorias shrugged.

"I don't _want_ to figure it out, though," Jaune confessed. "I don't want to have to say no or say yes or say anything at all. I just want to – I don't know, I just want things to go back to normal."

"Why can't they?"

Jaune's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"You could tell her exactly that, you know. I think she'd understand."

"But things wouldn't be 'normal'. I'd _know_ ," he said, wringing his hands. "You know, I don't know a lot of stuff. I'm not the most perceptive guy. I always thought that sucked but…" he struggled for words. "Now I know, I want to go back. And I can't."

"Look, just because I gave some half-decent advice that one time doesn't mean I have all the answers," shrugged Artorias. "I can't make up your mind for you."

The elevator dinged, a faint "come in" was heard from the office, and the doors opened.

"Good morning. Thank you both for coming," said Ironwood.

"I've certainly had worse mornings," Artorias shrugged, earning him some quizzical looks from Ironwood and Glynda. Jaune assumed there was some sort of humour in the statement that only the wolf would quite understand.

"Did you speak with Mr Ornstein?" Ozpin asked.

"He said he'd go to the bottom of the tower and come up when we were done," explained Artorias.

"I'm glad you reconciled your differences," said Ozpin.

"Heh, not quite."

"Unfortunately, I'm rather short on time today. If, once we're done, you could ask him to wait for me, I'd appreciate it."

"Sure thing."

Ozpin nodded, then addressed Jaune. "Thank you for coming. How are you feeling?"

Jaune shrugged. "Eh…" He wasn't sure if the headmaster was asking just in general, or about the incident at the CCT. Either way – he certainly wasn't feeling particularly good.

Or particularly bad, for that matter. Just… uneasy.

General Ironwood stepped forwards, perhaps sensing his discomfort, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "I think you should know that you performed well last night, Mr Arc. You recognised a threat. You recognised your own capabilities – and you did the very best you could."

"I helped too."

"Although if you were to take the time to call for backup, you certainly could have picked someone a little more sober," finished Ironwood.

"Uh…" Jaune looked between Ironwood and Artorias.

"In my defense, I think I did quite well considering I was tipsy," Artorias protested. "But he's not wrong. Do you have any of the teachers' numbers?"

"Being a teacher and being drunk are not mutually exclusive traits," muttered Professor Goodwitch, glancing sidelong at Ozpin.

Ozpin cleared his throat.

"We'll ensure that our contact details are available to every student before they depart on missions," said the general, giving Ozpin a pointed look as he returned to stand next to Professor Goodwitch.

"Now – the general here has already informed us of the events that… transpired last night," said Ozpin, "but now that you've rested, we were wondering if you had anything to add."

"Was anyone else with her? Did she look familiar to you at all?" Goodwitch asked.

Jaune glanced to Artorias, who shrugged. "You caught on first," he said.

Jaune sighed. "It's just like I told General Ironwood." He repeated more-or-less what he'd told the general that night – he'd seen some unconscious guards, called for backup, then gone to confront the intruder. It had been a woman, masked, dressed in black, with dark hair and amber eyes.

"And you said her clothes were embedded with dust?" Goodwitch prompted.

"Uh, yeah. I think so."

"Embedding clothes into dust is an age-old technique. It could have been anyone."

"She does match the description of the woman who helped Torchwick, however," said Goodwitch, "as little as we know about her."

"You said you didn't see her face," Ironwood said. "We can't be sure."

"It's certainly worth considering," Ozpin mused. "And you didn't see which way she went from the tower?"

Artorias shook his head. "She pushed me away from the window before she jumped. By the time I recovered, she'd disappeared."

"Did she seem Hunter-trained? We might be able to cross-reference her weaponry with the academies' records," Ironwood put forth.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not," Artorias shrugged. "It's not like people growing up outside the kingdoms don't learn anything either. And her weaponry was basic enough to be obtainable outside of an academy's forge – aside from the dust, of course."

"And it's not as though she would have any shortage of dust, if she were working with Torchwick," Ozpin said. "I'm afraid we don't yet know enough to narrow anything down, but it's a start."

"Do you know what she was here for?" Jaune asked.

Ironwood paused and stroked his chin. "No. We don't. We've looked at each terminal's access history, and there was no recorded activity that night – but then, it's possible she wiped it. And, as far as we know, there was no physical property taken from the communications room. Either she did something we can't trace, or you interrupted her before she could achieve her goal."

"Fingers crossed then," said Artorias.

"Fingers crossed indeed," Ironwood muttered, though he made a sour face at the expression.

Ozpin cleared his throat. "I'm sure you both have missions to prepare for. Thank you for your time," he said.

"Sure thing." Artorias started walking towards the elevator. Jaune bowed his head in what he hoped as a dignified and respectful manner, then turned to follow Artorias.

Glynda called after them. "You'll be serving detention with me when you return from your mission, Mr Nym, for-"

"Drinking at a school event, sure, fine," he said, waving one hand at Ironwood without even turning around.

Jaune couldn't even imagine daring to show the combat teacher that kind of disrespect.

"Mr Nym? Mr Arc?"

But Artorias would stop for Ozpin, it seemed, for at the older man's voice he paused. The two students looked back towards the three teachers, who, with the light streaming in from the window behind them, suddenly seemed grander than they had before – wiser perhaps, older, each carrying a great weight on their shoulders.

Or maybe Jaune was just stressed.

"Keep this discrete," said Ozpin.

/-/

"We're right back where we started," said Ironwood.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. We're no closer to our goals, but it seems neither are our enemies."

"We don't know that the students stopped her. Not for sure."

"They've shown their hand. We know for certain that they're here now, and that they're hunting Amber," Ozpin mused.

"It's possible that they're not connected," Glynda said.

"Is it? For what other reason would someone want to infiltrate the school? To cause an international incident? If so, I certainly hope that nothing they could do could put us at each other's throats, James."

Ironwood shook his head. "You have my trust."

"And you have mine. And the council of Vale seems to like you well enough. Cultural enrichment, was it?"

"It took a little compromise, but they were more than happy. Do you object?"

"Not at all." Ozpin sighed and stood. "Could you call the first-years to the amphitheatre, Glynda?"

"I think this is a little more important."

"Normalcy is important. We cannot be seen to be scheming behind closed doors at the expense of our students."

She hesitated, then nodded. "Of course." She moved towards the elevator, and the doors hid her from view.

"Normalcy is one thing," said Ironwood, "but we need a plan."

"What do you propose? We can hardly round up every dark-haired amber-eyed girl in Vale and ask Jaune and Artorias to identify them. Nor can we round up every woman to own a red dress and ask Ruby to do the same. For now, all we can do is hold the line and wait. Amber is safe, and stable. Well – stable enough."

"We wait for our enemies to make a mistake? We cannot rely on that, Oz."

"Not a mistake." Ozpin walked towards the elevator. "But they will have to show their hand sooner or later."

/-/

"Strange choice of reading material."

_It's your turn._

Mercury could almost hear the little green-haired minx in his head – in fact, he might be. He still wasn't sure if she could do auditory illusions too.

Since when had it been about _turns?_ He was just the muscle. Admittedly charismatic muscle, and he was hardly out of his depth – but muscle nonetheless. That wasn't something he wanted to change. Hell – if this team was anything like the first-years Emerald was supposed to be cozying up with, he'd be in a psych ward by the end of the week.

Now – Merc wasn't big on reading. But he certainly _could_ read. And even if he couldn't, he'd be able to tell with reasonable surety that the redheaded man he'd sat himself beside was learning how to paint nails. The pictures gave it away.

"Promised a friend I'd paint their nails," he explained. "I intend to do a good job of it."

"Huh." Mercury nodded, not quite understanding the appeal. If Emerald ever asked him to do her nails – not that they were _friends_ , per se – he definitely wouldn't agree to it. And even if he did, it'd be a very rushed job indeed, and she'd have hell to pay for his humiliation.

The redheaded man closed his scroll and offered a handshake. "Gilderoy Ornstein of Team GWIN. Shade. Third year."

"Mercury Black, Haven," Mercury said, glad that his target had taken the initiative to introduce himself. But Gilderoy narrowed his eyes, and they locked on Mercury's own as they shook hands, and for a brief second he was worried that Cinder's escapade at the CCT had managed to blow their cover. But then Gilderoy gave him a sharp nod, and the moment passed. "Third year, huh? I'm only a first year – been wondering for a while what you old folks do."

"Old folks?" Gilderoy raised an eyebrow.

"Older. It's a relative term," Mercury corrected himself, noting for future reference that the redhead had a rather dour sense of humour.

"Hmph." He didn't seem particularly impressed by that. Although, Mercury thought, Gilderoy couldn't be older than twenty, perhaps twenty-one. That was a little young to be self-conscious about one's age. "It's mostly more of the same," said Gilderoy. "It might be different at Haven, but at Shade we also picked up an aura manipulation class in second year and we have electives for applied dust sciences, advanced engineering, piloting, or field surgery in third year."

Mercury could already feel himself falling asleep. Well, at least it wasn't as bad as Port.

Of all the ways they could have infiltrated Beacon, Cinder just _had_ to pick the one with classes.

"Sounds interesting," Mercury lied. "So – what're you doing out here on a day like this? Shouldn't you be talking about – I don't know – the kind of mission you want with your team?" He'd seen the wolf faunus come out of the CCT tower and exchange a few words with Gilderoy – the blond kid too – but ignorance was the best defense.

"A little hypocritical. First-years choose missions first, do they not?"

"Good point. But we've done all that talking stuff already," he said. It wasn't quite a lie – Cinder told them she had something in mind, though she hadn't given any specifics.

"Yeah? What kind of mission are you looking for?"

"Uh, something nice and calm," Mercury bluffed. "In the city, hopefully. We haven't really had a chance to… see the sights."

"I see."

"Forever Fall's another option, if there's a search or destroy mission there maybe. I mean, that wouldn't be very calm, but none of us have had a chance to see the forest yet, so…" God – it was so hard to carry a conversation with this guy. He was too polite. And too quiet in the first place.

"I wouldn't get my hopes up, if I were you," Gilderoy mused. "Chances are good that Forever Fall's going to be a popular choice."

"Fingers crossed, then."

" _Would all first year students please report to the amphitheatre?"_ Professor Goodwitch's voice crackled out over speakers nearby.

"Well, I guess that's me," said Merc, standing up. He sighed – hardly believing that he was tasked with making _friends_ with people, and said, "You could come down with me and get an early look at the mission boards, maybe?"

On a hunch, he glanced around, hoping that Emerald wasn't hiding somewhere filming him.

"That's alright," said Gilderoy, all formal-like. Absolutely no fun. And it wasn't even Emerald's kind of no-fun, where it was still fun to push her buttons. Mercury just found Gilderoy… boring. "I'm waiting for someone."

"Oh, cool. Well, I'll see you around."

Another short nod, and Mercury slinked away to observe from afar again. He still had time to get to the amphitheatre anyway.

He took into account the man's weaponry – of course, his main weapon (whatever that was) was probably in his locker. But Mercury, having spent so much time around Cinder, knew what dust embroidery looked like. But, where Cinder's dress was embroidered in a manner that kept aesthetic in mind, Gilderoy's coat was clearly made with purpose, and purpose alone. Symmetry went right out the window, for one – and it clearly wasn't a stylistic choice either. It was just disconcerting, each pattern starting and stopping at irregular intervals to make the coat a fashion disaster.

Honestly, if he'd spent so much lien on such a garment, Mercury thought, he could at least make it look nice. Perhaps there was more to it, then. Some meaning behind the pattern that Mercury was unaware of. Cinder might know.

Mercury was about to turn away and head over to the amphitheatre when he saw Gilderoy rise and greet someone – it was Professor Ozpin.

Well then – Cinder would want to know about _that_ too.

/-/

"Terribly sorry about the delay. There was a matter I had to take care of – I'm sure you're aware."

"More or less," said Gilderoy.

Ozpin nodded. "Walk with me."

Gilderoy acquiesced, and they set off down the path towards the amphitheatre.

"What do you know about the Great War?" Ozpin asked.

Tilting his head in confusion, Gilderoy asked, "Excuse me?"

"The Great War. I'm sure you're familiar."

"Naturally," Gilderoy said, hurrying to catch up with the conversation. "What about it?"

"I was curious as to your knowledge about the minute details. The intricacies of each kingdom's armies, their strategies, their tactics. Indulge me, if you would."

Gilderoy peered at the old headmaster closely. "Why me?"

"I'm a teacher, am I not?" Gilderoy hadn't even noticed until now, but Ozpin had a mug of coffee in one hand. He took a sip from it.

After a moment, he nodded, though it was clear Ozpin wasn't being entirely honest. "I don't know much beyond the broad strokes, I'm afraid," said Gilderoy. "I know that Vacuo's army was more of a volunteer militia force. They provided resources to Vale more than troops. And Vale…" he tapped his chin in thought. "Vale had levies, right? Mostly untrained forces, at first volunteers…"

"But then conscripts." Ozpin nodded. "Not a particularly proud moment in our history, but desperate times, as they say, call for desperate measures. But we also mustered forces from our nobility – you are aware, I'm sure, that classes and castes were far more rigid in those days, especially in Vale and Mistral."

"Right."

"Vale had her knights," he continued. "Many with delusions of grandeur, of course, but at the very least they had training." He shook his head. "And how about tactics? Strategies… how did the army of Vale fight?"

"What about Mantle and Mistral?"

"I'm afraid I won't have time for that," Ozpin said, smiling lightly and gesturing towards their fast-approaching destination. "I have a considerable number of students who'll be waiting for me shortly."

"Right. I don't really know a great deal about it. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. After all – I'm a teacher." Ozpin sipped at his coffee. "The bulk of the army would form battle lines three men deep – fresh recruits in the front, veterans in the middle and knights in the back, with cavalry to flank as necessary. But they also had a unit to cover the army's rear in the event of a Grimm incursion. Some say they were chosen for this role because they were expendable. Others think that it was a duty given only to the elite." Ozpin shrugged. "Either way, it was a tactic that worked quite well for them, especially in the campaigns before Mantle and Mistral adopted similar methods to combat the Grimm."

Gilderoy nodded slowly. "Thanks for teaching me, I suppose. Though I'm sure I'm missing the point."

"You can make whatever point of it you choose," said Ozpin, regarding him with keen eyes. "There may be no point at all."

"Did any of these… elite – or expendables, whatever you want to call them – did they go on to be the first Hunters?"

"Some."

They came to the door to the amphitheatre, and Ozpin turned to him. "Think on it. And if a point comes to you – you know where to find me." And again, Gilderoy felt as though Ozpin was looking for something specific, something _very_ specific from him – and something that he himself didn't know he had. Or maybe he just didn't have it. Maybe Ozpin was mistaken.

Or maybe Ozpin was slowly working his way through every one of his students, having the exact same discussion.

Gilderoy cleared his thoughts. "Of course," he said with a sharp nod. Then he turned sharply on his heel and set off, his mind whirling.

"Oh – Mr Ornstein?"

Gilderoy turned around. Ozpin had yet to enter the amphitheatre. He was looking at Gilderoy intently – no, he was looking _past_ Gilderoy. He checked behind him; nobody was there.

"Yes?"

"Have you ever heard of Operation Mirror?"

Gilderoy shook his head.

Ozpin nodded, a frown setting in on his face. "Nevermind, then," he said. His eyes flickered again to a point somewhere behind Gilderoy, then he turned away and disappeared into the building.

/-/

"This is perfect! All we have to do is shadow a huntsman working in the southeast," Ruby cheered. The crowd of first-years was beginning to disperse to the mission boards following Ozpin's speech.

"We can follow them around by day and give them the slip at night."

Weiss was about to suggest that they check search and destroy, when Blake spoke up. "Did… Ozpin seem alright to you?"

"He seemed fine," Weiss said. "We could check search and destroy?" The team nodded in acceptance, and they pushed through the crowd towards the mission board.

"I can't say I've ever thought of Ozpin as _fine_ ," Yang leered.

"Spare me the thought," Weiss drawled.

"Spare _me_ the thought," she teased.

"I think I preferred the puns," Blake muttered.

"There's punty of time for those too," Yang said, her horrid grin growing ever-wider. Weiss closed her eyes for a few seconds, putting Yang's antics out of her mind as best she could.

"Hey, here's one in quadrant five. Grimm to be cleared out," Ruby said, ushering them closer.

"It's certainly in the southeast," Blake said.

"Sounds perfect."

Ruby pressed the screen, bringing up the keyboard, and entered in RWBY. Weiss felt her stomach drop a little as the words "MISSION UNAVAILABLE TO FIRST YEAR STUDENTS"came up on the screen.

"Wonderful," she said sardonically.

"Any other ideas?"

"We mail ourselves there," Ruby said. Weiss wasn't entirely sure she was kidding.

Weiss glanced around briefly at other mission boards, hoping that there would be another mission in the area available to first years. Ozpin caught her eye – pacing amongst the students, occasionally offering a word or two, of advice or encouragement probably. "He's always been distant," she murmured.

"What was that?" Ruby asked.

"Ozpin," she clarified. "He's always been a little distant, especially at addresses like these. Do you remember orientation?"

"I remember," Blake said. "But did you see how he gripped his cane?"

"I can't say I ever paid any attention to it before," said Weiss, "so I don't have anything to compare it to."

"Gonna have to go with Weiss on this one," Yang said, and for a second Weiss thought that the blonde would be helpful. "Unlike Blake, I've never been interested in how my teachers grip their… canes." She was clearly doing her best to suppress it, but her shit-eating grin spread across her face once again.

"Yang, please," said Blake, maintaining a deadpan. "Your _little_ sister is right there."

"I drink milk!"

"Then don't be explicit," Yang shrugged. "She drinks milk."

Weiss let out a little noise of annoyance and turned back to the mission board. "We could just sit here and make sure nobody gets it before Team SSSN?" she suggested.

"Yeah, but we need a mission too," said Ruby.

"We could get one in the city," suggested Yang. "Chase down the Yarrow lead."

Ruby nodded. Over the intercom, Professor Goodwitch was calling the second-years to the amphitheatre. "Stay here. I'll get us a mission," she said.

/-/

"So he just asked you about the Great War and that was it?" Artorias asked.

"He seemed pretty out of it," said Gilderoy.

"He seemed alright when I was up there. I mean, he's always been a little…" Artorias made a circling motion with his index finger around his ear and crossed his eyes, earning a snort from Ciaran. "But he didn't seem particularly absent to me."

The call for third years to select missions had come not too long after the second years. On the way, Gilderoy had caught them up on his little chat with Ozpin, though they were still somewhat confused by it.

"And you said he asked you about… Operation Mirror?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure it wasn't Mirrah? Spelt with an 'a-h', I mean," Artorias suggested. After all, if they'd been talking about Vale specifically…

"Mirrah," Gilderoy tested it on his tongue. "I don't know. Maybe. Why?"

"Mirrah was a town on the east coast of Sanus," explained Artorias. "We learnt about it in history class back at Flare."

"You actually learned something?" Ciaran asked.

Artorias gave her his best deadpan. "I _do_ listen… sometimes. Mirrah was part of the kingdom of Vale, so it was brought up in class once or twice. You know how it is – schools only care about the kingdom you're in."

"Why Mirrah? What was notable about it?" Gilderoy asked.

Artorias nodded. "It was the first battle of the war that the Grimm won. Mantle laid siege to the town. Eventually, all the negativity brought on the Grimm. The besiegers died, the garrison died… the civilians died."

"What, then, was Operation Mirrah?" Gough asked.

Artorias shrugged. "I don't know. If we covered that in class, I was-"

"Sleeping?"

"Not paying attention," he corrected, giving Ciaran another pointed look. "I would _never_ sleep in class."

"Sure, sure."

They entered the amphitheatre. Ozpin was nowhere to be seen – instead, Professor Goodwitch was on the stage. There was a brief speech about the wonders of cooperation and harmony and peace and all that good stuff – then they were directed to select missions.

"Did we ever decide what we were going for?" Artorias asked.

"Didn't you want to chase up the Yarrow thing? Or the southeast thing?" Ciaran asked.

"Hold up – I'll ask Ruby," he said. "See if they've got it covered."

He pulled out his scroll and sent a quick message. Not a moment later, she responded with a thumbs-up.

"Think that means they've got it covered?" he showed his team his scroll.

"Think they've got it covered," Ciaran said.

"Thumbs-up are kinda vague."

"They've got it covered, Artorias," said Gough.

"Just making sure – I mean, she might mean that she wants us to dislocate our thumbs, you know?"

"They've got it covered," repeated Gough.

"Or worse, chop them off."

"Artorias?" Gilderoy put a hand on his shoulder. Artorias responded with a grin.

"Yes?"

"Stop."

He let out an overdramatic sigh. "Fine," he said. "So – what are we doing?"

"Nothing too stressful, I think," said Gilderoy.

"Boring."

"I don't think we have much choice," said Gough. He was much taller, and using his height to his advantage, he peered at each mission over the heads of the other students. "There's a few for perimeter defense," he said. "A few village security… one escort-"

"Ew. No thanks," Artorias said.

"You'd probably scare away our escortee anyway," Ciaran teased.

"Rude."

"True."

"Both of you, stop. Anything else, Gough?"

"Some search and rescue. But only one search and destroy… and that just got taken."

"Escort sucks," Artorias said. "Search and rescue sucks too."

"You're good at search and rescue," Gilderoy pointed out. "I thought you liked being good at things."

"Still boring."

"The fourth-years are showing up," Gough warned. "We're gonna have to pick soon."

Gilderoy looked between his team. "Village security?"

"With high Grimm activity?"

"Sometimes, you've just gotta take the easy road, Artorias," Ciaran said. "Find one with as few Grimm as possible."

"You just want to spite me."

"That I do."


	15. Old Souls

"Yeah man, we've totally got a plan. We've got the best plan. Like, every plan ever made? Take them all – take all the good ones, I mean – mash them together, and _bam!_ That's our plan."

Artorias and Gough caught the end of Sun's rant to Team RWBY – about what, they weren't entirely sure.

"You could almost call it a _ker-plan!_ " Yang said, pointing finger guns at the monkey faunus. Groans ensued.

"That wasn't your best," said Artorias, stepping into the circle of students. Neptune and Weiss, he saw, were standing together, looking both uncertain and quietly pleased at the same time.

"Oh, hey," said Ruby, nodding to both him and Gough.

"We didn't cut our thumbs off," said Artorias.

Ruby looked at him strangely.

"That wasn't your best," mimicked Yang.

"It's an inside joke. You get it, right, Ruby? Gough?"

"Nope."

"I get it, but it's not very funny," said Gough.

"You guys are lame."

"Sun! Neptune!" a green-haired man called from further down the docks.

"Right, so… our Bullhead's leaving like, right now, and we should _really_ be on it, so…" Neptune trailed off.

"Yeah… But seriously though, don't worry about it, we've totally got a plan, and it's _awesome,_ " said Sun, backpedalling towards the Bullheads and getting progressively louder to call back to them.

"Good luck," Ruby called, as the two Haven students dashed off towards their team. "Leave some world-saving for the rest of us!"

"World-saving? Why don't _we_ ever get the world-saving mission?" Nora and Team JNPR walked up to them, Nora looking like she was about to break down into tears.

"She gets upset when she's hungry," said Ren calmly.

"Well maybe if you'd made more _pancakes!"_

Artorias noted that Jaune and Pyrrha were standing next to each other, but not particularly close; he sent a questioning look Jaune's way. Jaune glanced sidelong at his partner to check she wasn't watching, then gave a shrug and a tentative thumbs-up.

A thumbs-up could mean just about anything.

"So, what mission did you take?" asked Pyrrha.

"We're just going into the city," said Ruby, "to shadow a, uh, a private investigator I think?" She glanced at her team looking for confirmation.

"You saw the mission board, not us," said Weiss.

"Yeah. Private investigator. Yeah," said Ruby.

"We're supposed to meet him in an hour," said Blake.

"Sounds… nice?" said Jaune. "We're going to a village outside the kingdom tomorrow."

"We're going to shadow a sheriff!" said Nora. "Ooh, I hope he has a horse. And one of those cool hats!"

"Our team unanimously decided to take a quiet mission outside the kingdom," said Gough smugly.

"Yes," said Artorias, shooting a glare at his tall teammate. " _Unanimously."_

Gough chuckled heartily. "Speaking of which, the others are probably waiting for us. All of you, good luck."

"JNPR's mission sounds fun. Can I-"

"No." Gough gripped his shoulder and led him towards the Bullheads. Artorias turned back to wave goodbye, and it might have been his mind playing tricks on him but he could have sworn he saw Ruby's bag wriggle on her back.

/-/

Cinder led Mercury and Emerald to the docks of Vale. The two bickered behind her the whole time, but she'd grown accustomed to tuning it out.

"What kind of mission is this again?"

It took her a little longer than it should have for her to realise the question was addressed to her; not so long as to be awkward, however, and she maintained her composure. "I'm merely fulfilling a favour. We're shadowing a… friend on their mission."

"Friend, huh?"

"I wouldn't expect you to know what friends are," said Emerald.

Mercury ignored her snide remark. "She wants me," he told Cinder.

Blissful silence. She'd been surprised to receive the call. Councilman Sulyvahn didn't give up his favours lightly. Perhaps his agent had bitten off more than they could chew.

"Why is it always an abandoned warehouse?" Mercury asked.

"Shady business for shady places," said Emerald.

"You'd think the police would have caught on by now. Always the same kind of place."

"Both of you, please, be quiet," commanded Cinder.

"See? She hates your voice just as much as I do," said Emerald.

"I think you'll find she said both of us."

They reached their destination; Cinder entered first. A man stood within, barely taller than Emerald, wearing the uniform of an Atlesian Specialist. Beneath his coat was plate armour encrusted with pale blue dust. Even seeing it sent an uncomfortable chill down Cinder's spine.

"I was under the impression there'd be four of you," he said. His voice was deceptively warm, his timbre somehow smooth and lyrical.

"Mint is preoccupied," she said, sure to use Neo's codename as a cue for Emerald and Mercury to do the same. She didn't entirely trust the specialist, after all – even though he was one of Sulyvahn's men.

Actually, especially _because_ he was one of Sulyvahn's men.

The specialist nodded. "And these two are…?"

"This is Mercury and Emerald," Cinder said, gesturing to the two as an introduction.

"Specialist Vordt," said the specialist. "I'm not much one for pleasantries."

"What a shame," drawled Mercury. "I was preparing ice-breakers the whole way here."

Vordt sighed. "Do you still need him?"

Cinder tilted her head. "I don't know what you're implying," she said, "but a threat to my subordinates is a threat to me. You don't want that, do you?"

Vordt's eyes narrowed. "And a threat to me is a threat to the Pontiff," he said.

"I can afford that risk," she said. "Can you?"

For a moment, their eyes were locked, a battle of wills. Then Vordt looked away, and Cinder smirked triumphantly.

"What's the mission, _Specialist_ Vordt?" she asked, turning the title into a mockery.

He paused, probably contemplating all the mistakes he'd made in his life to get involved with people like Cinder. "Atlas is kindly loaning a painting of great cultural significance to the Vale museum for their Vytal exhibit," he said at last. "It arrives in Vale tonight."

"Let me guess. You want us to steal it?" Emerald asked.

Vordt levelled his gaze at her. "No. The Pontiff wants us to protect it."

Mercury scoffed. "Boring."

Vordt turned back to Cinder. "Vale has assigned their own representative to oversee the delivery. Each team will escort a vehicle to the museum; ours will be a decoy, and theirs will be carrying the painting."

"Who has Vale sent? A Hunter? The VPD?"

"A Huntsman named Vengarl."

Cinder let out the most undignified snort she'd ever made. "Vengarl?" If Vengarl was involved, there was no way that the painting would need any more protection.

"You know him?"

"I know of him." Though, she supposed, most did not – it didn't sound like Vordt did. But Sulyvahn knew of him, for sure. "I've heard stories. If even half of them are true, he is one of the most dangerous men alive. Unless, of course, he's gone senile in his old age."

"I've spoken to him. He seems sharp enough."

"Then there's no reason for us to be here," said Cinder. "Unless we're here to protect _you_ from _him._ "

"I, for one, have not done anything illegal," he said. "Like forging documents to enter a Haven Academy, for example. Vengarl has no reason to suspect _me._ "

"And Sulyvahn knows that Vengarl is here?"

"He does."

Cinder frowned. "Then he is wasting a valuable favour."

"It must hurt for you to… be in the dark," said Vordt. "Don't worry so much, Cinder. Our job is only to ensure that the painting reaches the museum. Nothing more. Nothing less."

/-/

Sun was the first to step out of the Bullhead, stretching his arms and breathing in the dusty air. "Almost like home," he said. Although back at Vacuo, it was more sand than dust.

Behind him, his team came out, Scarlet stepping carefully to avoid as much dirt-encrusted ground as he could. "I already hate it here," he said.

"Well, we've got two jobs to do, then we can all go home," said Neptune.

"Speaking of which," said Sage, "you said you had a plan."

"I do have a plan," said Sun. "And it's a fantastic-"

"So we've heard. What is it?"

Sun rubbed his hands together. "Okay, so, the plan is that we go romping around making as much noise as possible, killing Grimm as per the mission statement, right? We just have to make sure that the White Fang hear us, and then at night, when they come to take us prisoner, we split up, yeah, so that they take _some_ of us but not _all_ of us. And then the people who _aren't_ in chains follow the White Fang back to their base, do the rescue thing, then we stop them as a team. Waddaya think?"

His team looked between themselves, then back at Sun. All at once, Neptune and Sage both said, "That's stupid."

Scarlet, to his credit, seemed more on board with Sun's masterfully crafted plan, for rather than putting it down he said, "Shot-not being the bait."

"It's not stupid!"

"It's stupid."

/-/

"This the right place?"

Team RWBY stood awkwardly in the hallway of a hotel, in front of a wooden door with the number 412 on it.

Ruby checked her scroll. "This is it."

"Do private investigators usually work out of hotels?" asked Yang.

"I wouldn't know," said Blake.

"I was just expecting, like, one of those offices with the PI's name in gold plating on the door. Oh, and with no lamps or anything inside, just hazy afternoon sunlight coming in the windows. I wonder if he'll be smoking a cigar?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Yang," said Weiss. "I'm sure he'll be far more professional than that."

"It might not have said private investigator," Ruby admitted. "I wasn't really paying much attention."

"Lame. Plan still stands, right? We do the mission now, then we sneak out to investigate Yarrow tonight?" Yang said.

"If all goes well, yes," said Weiss.

"So…" Yang said. "Should we knock?"

"We should knock," said Blake. Weiss rolled her eyes and knocked on the door.

There were some faint footsteps, some indiscernible muttering – then the door opened in front of them to reveal an old man. But, while his skin was wrinkled and his hair was grey, nothing else about him suggested age. There was a fire in his eyes. His shoulders were broad, and his folded arms were well-muscled beneath his leather jerkin.

He must have aura, Ruby thought, which meant he was even older than he looked. Aura could (to some extent) slow the ravages of time. Port, for example, was old enough to have grey hair, but his skin had yet to wrinkle.

This man, however, was old. _Very_ old. Qrow had once told her that the old ones were the best ones.

"I didn't think girl scouts did hotels," he said. His voice was low and quiet – gravelly, yet somehow at the same time kind and soothing.

Weiss cleared her throat. "We're not girl scouts. We're the team from Beacon. Team RWBY?"

His brow furrowed. "I don't recall offering to be shadowed."

"It was on the mission board…" said Ruby, shrinking beneath his gaze. He was taller than them as well – almost as tall as Gough, even, but lacking the gentle familiarity.

"Ozpin wants me back, no doubt," he muttered. "Come in. I won't turn you away just yet." He stepped aside and allowed them entry into the hotel. The main room was mostly taken up by a single large table, across which was laid a map of Vale. Two lines were drawn on it, connecting the docks to a building at the tip of the northern headland, each line taking a different route through the city. To the left was a small kitchen, partitioned off by a bench, and along the right wall were two closed doors.

It was a cramped space, and one that he'd clearly spent little time decorating – there were no ornaments, no souvenirs, save for a picture frame hanging on the wall next to them. Within was a photo, old and faded, of three people, their arms slung around each other's shoulders. On the left was the (maybe) private investigator, or so Ruby guessed. But here he was much younger, and in full armour – a fur cloak over leather. On the right, a woman, with long blonde hair, blue eyes, and a lighthearted smile. And in the middle was a man who seemed oddly familiar to Ruby, with his fair hair and a slightly lopsided grin.

"Who is that?" Ruby found herself asking. "The one in the middle."

The old man didn't respond. But her team glanced over; "He looks like Jaune," said Weiss.

"That's quite enough," said the old man. He walked to stand behind the table and stooped down to lean against it, his massive hands balling into fists. "Understand that this should not be a particularly difficult mission, but also that I will not accept incompetence nor distraction. If I do not find you to be up to my personal standard, I will send you straight back to Ozpin. Are we clear?"

Ruby nodded. She didn't need to look to know her team was doing the same.

"Good. My name is Vengarl. What, exactly, did your mission board tell you about this task?"

The team all looked to Ruby; she'd been the one to find the mission, after all. "It said that we'd be shadowing a private investigator within the city," she said, not sure how accurate or inaccurate that was.

"Private investigator?" Vengarl raised an eyebrow. "I suppose it's apt enough." He drew himself to his full height. "The museum of Vale is putting on an exhibit for the festival," he said. "Atlas has kindly loaned them a painting given by Vale to Atlas on the day the academy opened. It's of great cultural importance to both kingdoms, so both kingdoms are understandably concerned with the possibility of it being stolen in transit. As such, it's arriving by boat, tonight, hidden amongst an SDC shipment."

"Isn't dust a high-risk target, sir?" asked Weiss.

"Don't call me sir," he corrected calmly, levelling his gaze at her. "Fortunately for _all_ our senses of humour, dust is not the only thing that the Schnees export."

"Wait," said Ruby. "I mean, not wait, but sorry to interrupt, but are they really smuggling an artefact in with a shipment of _toothpaste_?"

"Other companies rent the spare cargo space, Ruby," Weiss said. "It won't _just_ be toothpaste."

"It will be mostly toothpaste, however," said Vengarl. "No need to ruin my fun, Miss… Schnee?"

Weiss pursed her lips. "Of course."

He nodded, the hint of a smile playing on his lips, then looked back down to the map. "We will be taking the route marked in green. Atlas' representative will be escorting a decoy marked in white. What are your individual strengths?"

"Uh…"

"What are your effective fighting ranges? How quickly do you move in a fight? How quickly do you reposition out of a fight? Are you suited to fighting groups or single foes?"

"Oh." One at a time, they listed off their skills.

Ruby Rose, long-range sniper or mid-range melee, agile in and out of a fight, effective against groups or singular foes depending on the range.

Weiss Schnee, mid-range dust and short-range melee, agile in a fight but less so out of one, a duellist with a focus on singular enemies.

Blake Belladonna, mid-range pistol and short-range melee, extremely agile in a fight and able to reposition quickly with her ribbon, capable of a mix of single-target and group combat.

And Yang Xiao Long, long to mid-range explosives, short-range melee, a little less agile in a fight but able to reposition with recoil, with a healthy balance of single-target and group combat.

He made them list it off with mechanical precision. Ruby could tell that the gears were turning in his head. "Miss Rose and Miss Schnee will be team one. Miss Belladonna and Miss Xiao Long will be team two. This afternoon, we will mark out vantage points over each road on the route. Tonight, each team will handle one road at a time, alternating, so that the artefact constantly has an eye in the sky. Unless you can pull a third team member out of your pockets, we can have up to two vantage points for each road. Do you understand?"

"Sure thing, Gramps," said Yang.

Ruby's eyes widened and she poked her sister in the arm. _"What are you doing?"_ she hissed.

Vengarl looked at her calmly. His mouth was set in a line. After a moment's consideration, he said, "I'll accept that." He reached down under the table and pulled up a belt, a pair of massive swords already on it, and strapped it around his waist. "Miss Rose, leave your bag here. We've got…" he checked his watch. "Four hours to scope out the route. Then we'll meet with Atlas' man and wait for the shipment."

"Uh…" Ruby tentatively took her bag off her shoulders.

"Is everything alright, Miss Rose?"

Zwei popped his little corgi head out of the bag and yapped once. Her team groaned.

Vengarl sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The dog can stay here."

"He has his aura activated," said Ruby.

"The dog will stay here."

"He can be our third team member!"

"The dog _will_ stay here," he repeated.

Ruby pouted. "Yes sir."

"Don't call me sir."

/-/

"This place even _looks_ boring."

"It looks just like every other village in the middle of nowhere," said Gilderoy.

"Exactly. Boring."

But at least it had a landing pad, Artorias thought. Not every village had a landing pad. Once, they'd taken a mission in a town in the mountains south-east of Vacuo, and the terrain had been so steep they'd had to land in the foothills and trek all the way up. As it happened, this village, in the eastern foothills of the mountains east of Vale, had a landing pad just inside the southern wall.

The Bullhead set down on the aforementioned landing pad. "You two, go find the inn and organise rooms," said Gilderoy. "We're supposed to be here a couple of days. Gough and I will check in with the – what was it, mayor?"

"I think he styles himself 'earl'," said Gough.

"A little pretentious."

"Places like this have weird customs," said Ciaran, shrugging. "You shouldn't let it worry you."

"Hmph. Artorias, don't get drunk," commanded Gilderoy.

"I _can_ show restraint, you know," he said, already heading off with Ciaran.

"But you won't?" she smirked.

"Eh. Maybe." There was a sign next to the stairs leading down off the landing pad; it said, _Welcome to Carim!_ It was all very cheesy. Artorias considered tearing the sign down. _Far_ too pleasant.

Carim, as it turned out, was a little different than most backwater villages on eastern Sanus. Namely, the roads were built from sparkling white granite rather than the usual dreary dull-greenish-grey stuff, or even just cobbled roads. And here they were well maintained, too – in almost every place Artorias had ever been, the roads were cracked, weeds poking through the gaps, but here it was as though each road was hewn from one giant slab of granite.

Everything else was pretty much the same. Houses were built from wood, and from grey brick. Corners of major roads were marked with lampposts made of iron. There were no street names, or at least none that Artorias could see.

The inn itself was easy enough to find – a building about three stories tall, only a street away, with a sign hanging outside labelling it, quite matter-of-factly, _'The Inn'_ , as though it were the only inn in the entire world.

Preposterous.

"What's the bet that the rooms are gonna be massively overpriced?"

"I won't bet on that," said Ciaran.

The door was already open. It was a rather homely atmosphere inside; a fireplace against one wall, a bar at the opposite side, tables in between. It was the middle of the day though, so it was fairly quiet, with only three patrons, a bartender, and in a corner a minstrel plucking at the strings of his violin and lazily humming a tune, more to himself than to the meagre audience.

Artorias and Ciaran glanced at each other, then made their way to the bar.

"We'd like to get some rooms, please," said Artorias.

"And I'd like some details," said the bartender, a stocky man with a crooked nose. "We've got a few rooms with one bed, a few rooms with two beds, a few rooms with double beds. What're you after?"

"Two rooms, two beds each."

"Just a moment." He went into the back room and came out a few seconds later with a pair of heavy keys and put them down on the bartop. "That'll be two thousand lien a night."

"You're joking."

"Course I'm fucking joking. Worth trying," he grumbled. "Fifty lien for each room upfront, then fifteen a night."

Artorias hadn't seen the rooms yet, but assuming they weren't utter garbage it was a decent price. He gave the bartender the money, then turned to Ciaran. "You and the others better remember to pay me back."

"I'll remember," she said.

"You're Hunters, right?" said the bartender. "We sent out that call a week ago. Took your time."

"That's probably us," said Artorias. "What's the deal?"

"Ask the earl. He's paying." He got a cloth and started wiping the bartop, a clear indication that he was just about done talking. "Can I get you anything else, or are you gonna go do your job?"

"Uh-"

"That's all," said Ciaran, dragging Artorias away.

"I swear I wasn't going to get beer."

"I don't believe you."

"I'm hurt. It was going to be whiskey."

Ciaran shook her head. "Of course it was." She sighed and took out her scroll. "Gil says to meet at the east gate," she said.

They set off again. The village was fairly small, all things considered – Artorias was surprised that they even had a wall, to be honest. And it wasn't even a bad wall. It was made of the same overly-sparkly granite as the roads. Corners were marked with towers, the walls themselves had crenellations from which to fire out – they were actually quite impressive. Where all the granite came from, Artorias had no idea. Perhaps Carim was a quarry-town?

"What's the deal?" Artorias asked, as they reached the east gate. It was made of wood and iron, set in a granite gatehouse. Gil was speaking with some townsfolk, all carrying lumber axes. There were a few mules nearby, attached to large wagons.

"The north gate's rotted," said Gil. "This lot's being sent out to get timber to build a new one. We're making sure they don't die."

"They have axes. They can defend themselves," Artorias joked. There were a few awkward laughs from the lumberjacks. There was a significant lack of plaid, Artorias noted – how could they be lumberjacks without plaid?

"The militia is on constant watch at the north gate," said one of them. "So they can't keep an eye on us while we get the wood to fix it."

Artorias nodded. "How long do you think it'll take?"

"The earl said it'd take a few days," said Gough. More nods from the lumber-not-jacks.

"And they couldn't have just shipped in timber from Vale?" Artorias grumbled, earning a kick from Ciaran. "Fine. We all ready?"

More nods.

"Let's go," said Gilderoy. "Stay close together. Artorias, you're with me. We'll take point. Gough and Ciaran, bring up the rear."

"This better not be boring," muttered Artorias.

"It's gonna be _very_ boring," Gilderoy shot back, as they walked out of the town. The area outside the walls was cleared for several kilometres – the forest was a way away, down the foothills. They had a long way to walk.

"I hate this mission."

/-/

"Where are the possible threats?"

They were standing on the roof of a factory at one end of the street. The vehicle would be turning right onto the road and coming straight towards them before turning left again to head towards the bridge. They were still in the industrial district; the road was lined with warehouses and cranes and cargo containers, and perhaps later they'd have parked trucks to consider as well.

This was the fifth road they were examining. Vengarl, they'd quickly found, was a very meticulous planner.

"Warehouses – if any doors are left open, they're a potential hiding place," said Blake. "The windows on the upper gantries can also be used as a vantage point for a sniper."

"Good. What else?"

"There's a manhole halfway along the road," said Weiss. "A bomb could be planted on its underside, or an assailant could use it as an entry or exit point."

"Good of you to consider explosives. Miss Rose?"

"The warehouse rooves are curved. A lookout from here won't be able to see someone lying on the other side. We'll need two vantage points for this road."

"Perfect. Miss Xiao Long – any suggestions?"

"We can use the warehouses to our advantage as well. Ruby can hide inside and use the windows to snipe."

"But…" Vengarl prompted.

"But she needs to get in from her previous position and out to her next one promptly. A position indoors makes that difficult – she could also sit partway up one of the cranes, or on a roof of a warehouse at the other end of the street."

"Which would be quicker for you, Miss Rose?"

"The warehouse roof," she said.

Vengarl nodded in acceptance. "Do any of you have anything else to add?"

Yang shook her head, as did the rest of her team.

"You're forgetting something. Miss Rose will also have to worry about an assailant from inside the factory," said Vengarl, kneeling down and tapping the building's roof.

"Oh."

"Oh indeed." He gestured that they should follow him and vaulted over the low wall around the roof, grabbing onto a ladder and sliding down to the street below.

"So… about Yarrow?" said Yang.

"Yeah, we'll have to do that tomorrow," said Ruby.

"That's fine. We can-"

"Ahem?" Vengarl coughed to get their attention.

"Gesundheit!" Ruby called.

"I mean, it's not like Yarrow's place is going anywhere. We do the mission tonight and go to Yarrow's tomorrow," said Blake.

"Got it."

When they returned to Vengarl, he was looking at them, an eyebrow raised, foot tapping impatiently against the ground.

"Sorry Gramps," said Yang. "Teenage Yangst. I'm sure you remember the days, right?"

"Is she always like this?" he asked.

There was a chorus of 'yes' and 'yup' and 'always' from the rest of the team.

"I hope there won't be any such delays tonight?"

"No sir."

"Stop that." He gestured up to the factory – there were windows all along the wall. "A sniper could hide in any one of those windows," he said. "Miss Rose, you'll have your work cut out for you."

"I can handle it."

"I'm sure you can." He clapped his hands together. "Moving on…"

/-/

Birds, Artorias found, were fucking annoying.

They didn't care about anything, really. Tuning into them with his semblance always made his head hurt – they only ever really communicated that they were coveting something, whether it was another bird, food, or even just a nice stick. It was like having a thousand little children screaming "Mine!" over and over in his head.

But, on occasion, they would send out a wave of alarm. They knew when something was wrong.

"Grimm, north-ish, maybe about a hundred metres away?" They weren't ever specific about locations, though.

Gough peered into the foliage. "Beowolf." He drew his bow and let loose.

In two hours of sitting around waiting for lumber-not-jacks to cut down trees, that was their first Grimm.

The sun was beginning to get a little low in the sky. Another hour or two and they'd have to head back. They'd started pretty late in the day, after all, having arrived around midday. Tomorrow they'd be up bright and early, and Artorias would have to listen to more fucking birds for the entire day.

Artorias groaned at the thought, took a sip from his flask, then went back to listening to the stupid bastards.

/-/

That evening, when Ozpin stepped into his office, he found himself stopped in his tracks. There, standing in the middle of the room, was a woman – in her mid-twenties, with blonde hair and clothes of black and gold and white and blue. She faced away from him, but he knew that if he were to see her face that the tissue around her left eye would be blackened and twisted.

Which wasn't entirely accurate. That was just how he'd been seeing her of late – but the scar marring her face had never been quite so gruesome in reality.

"I have to make a call," he said once he'd gotten over the shock, walking around her to his desk. "Though I appreciate that you're taking the time out of your oh-so busy schedule to come to my office."

"A call?" she asked – and indeed, there it was, the strange mark over her eye. Hallucinations, he supposed, didn't have to be accurate all the time.

"I really ought to talk to June, you know."

"Am I not important?"

"You're a figment of my imagination."

"Is your sanity not important?" she asked, smirking.

Ozpin paused. "Well, I always thought that if I went insane, I'd be haunted by Gwyn. Not you."

"Or Salem?"

He pursed his lips. "I have to make a call," he said. "Go away."

She smiled, and when next he blinked, she'd disappeared. Ozpin cleared his head and brought up the call function in his desk.

June picked up almost immediately. "I've been waiting, Oz," she said. She was sprawled on her couch in her office, scroll held up by her right hand.

"I've been busy," Ozpin said off-handedly.

"Looking into Team GWIN, I hope."

"I don't spend every moment of my time fulfilling your whims," he said.

"But you have done it, right?"

"Naturally."

She reached behind the scroll for a cup of coffee – or, at least, Ozpin hoped it was coffee. It might have been tea, for all he knew, but it was easier to believe that it was coffee.

"Still waiting, Oz."

Ozpin cleared his throat. "Artorias is capable. But he's not very good at keeping secrets."

"Oh?"

"Rather, he's not good at hiding that he _has_ secrets," Ozpin corrected. "Though I suppose he doesn't divulge them readily. You may recruit him when the tournament is over."

"Are you sure we have that kind of time? Ozpin, two maidens have been attacked. One is _dead._ "

"This Vytal Festival is already under more scrutiny than I'd like, what with James' presence in Vale. I'd rather not put our efforts at risk by telling the least subtle student of Shade our secrets."

"I trust him."

"And that's why I'm allowing you to bring him into the fold – _after_ the festival," he said. He sipped at his coffee. "I won't take unnecessary risks with Amber's life."

"Think some more on it. I think you'd be surprised."

Ozpin sighed. "I'll consider it further."

"Thank you. And how about Gilderoy?"

"You're mistaken," said Ozpin firmly. "There's no doubt in my mind."

"You could just be seeing what you want to see," she shrugged.

"That's a little harsh," he said.

"But true." She sat up, and held her scroll a little closer to her face. "Ozpin, you don't _want_ him to Awaken. You don't want him to judge you."

"No," he said, "I don't." And suddenly, he was acutely aware of someone watching him. He looked up, and there she was again, blue eyes looking at him curiously.

"Ozpin?"

He looked back at the screen.

"They are not the same person. I suppose I can't expect you to understand that."

"June-"

"It must be so easy, having a little voice in your head to tell you _why_. Someone to sort your memories into neat little boxes. It must be nice to have them all arrive at once in a rush, so you understand how everything fits together, even if you can't recall it properly." Her eyes were narrowed at him – she was angry.

"Old souls are forgetful," said the blonde woman. "We were not so fortunate as to - how to put this delicately? _B_ _orrow_ someone else's."

"Look at me, Ozpin," said June. "Whether it's Gilderoy or not, he – or she – will make a decision when they Awaken. Unless it _breaks_ them. Old souls are fragile, Ozpin."

"Say her name," the blonde woman hissed. "You don't deserve this. You know I hated you. She doesn't understand that. It will hurt her. She deserves it."

"Ozpin-"

"Shut up," said Ozpin quietly. He hadn't noticed before, but there had been a roaring in his ears. Now there was silence, save for the endless clacking of gears above him. The blonde woman was gone again. June was watching him expectantly.

"I will speak to Mr Ornstein again," he said. "I don't want to, but I will."

"If anything will Awaken him-"

"I know," he said. "I know what to do. And if you're right… if it breaks him again, it's on your head. Not mine."

"It won't."

"Say her name, Ozpin." And there she was again, now leaning against a pillar. There was a pad in her hands, and she was writing something down.

"Go away," he muttered.

"What?"

He shook his head. "Don't expect anything," he said, then he hung up before he could say something he'd regret.

"I think that went well."

Ozpin let out a long sigh. "Is this what happens when you drink dozens of cups of coffee a day?"

"Don't be dramatic," she quipped.

"You weren't like this at all," he said. "You were never smart with me."

"Are you calling me dumb?" she joked.

"And you never indulged in humour with me," he continued. "This isn't right."

"No," she said, "it's not." She kept writing. "But this is your imagination, not mine."

He was silent for a while, holding his head in his hands. "She's right, you know?" he said at last.

And he looked up, and instead of a woman there was a young man. He was tall, with long strands of messy grey hair swept upwards to accentuate his height. A cloak wrapped around his shoulders, obscuring the lower part of his face. But, like the blonde woman from before, he was leaning against the pillar, writing something.

A letter.

"That's not fair," said Ozpin.

"Isn't it?" His voice was low and quiet and soft.

"Fair to you."

The man tore the page from his notepad and let it go. It defied gravity and floated over to Ozpin, landing smoothly on his desk. Hallucinations, apparently didn't have to obey the laws of physics.

First, written in the handwriting of the blonde woman:

_I would no longer be me. I would look like me, but I would not be me. I would be… lost._

_It scares me._

_I remember dying._

Then, in the hand of the man with the windswept hair:

_The Wizard has a wit about him, a certain wisdom that Father lacks._

And again, in a different hand, neat and printed as though someone went to painstaking effort to make their handwriting legible:

_I write to request that one Lucatiel of Mirrah be reinstated under my command._

"Why-"

"That was the moment you failed."

"I didn't fail," said Ozpin.

"All the narcissism of all the fools in all the world cannot compare to the conceit of a dead immortal," he said. "You failed _her_. And that's what matters, in the end. You failed me, too. Do you really think I'd forgive you?"

Another line appeared on the page, in the blonde woman's handwriting - but it had been scribbled over, so that Ozpin could barely read it.

_I am sorry, dear little-_

Ozpin blinked. The page was gone. The man was gone.

The gears of Beacon tower ticked away inexorably.

And Ozpin was alone.


	16. Ambition

The Inn was a little more lively at night. Somehow, between complaining about how bored he was and listening to various animals, Artorias had managed to befriend some of the woodcutters (who he explicitly refused to call lumberjacks). The minstrel from before had struck up a comedic ballad about resurrecting the dead - a strange dichotomy, but he made it work.

"So, there we were, just leaving the bar, drinks in hand, crooks unconscious on the floor – and what happens to run past?"

"A Beowolf!"

"No."

"An Ursa!"

"Guys, it wasn't a Grimm."

"A prostitute!"

"What? No!" Artorias had his audience rapt, if a little raucous. And the story he was relaying didn't quite fit with the version he'd told Ciaran. Not that it really mattered, of course; it wasn't like the townsfolk could verify his story. "A giant Atlesian Robot!"

"Huh?"

"One of those new Paladins, I think. Doesn't matter what it was called - to us, it was _prey."_

Ciaran smiled a little. So, he _did_ listen to Port.

She tuned out of the conversation, not curious enough to see how he'd twist the narrative even further. Gil and Gough were sitting further down the table holding a quiet conversation between themselves, with a scroll open in Gil's hand; she scooted down the bench.

"What's going on here?"

Gil turned his scroll towards her. "Checking out Operation Mirrah," he said. His speech was just a little bit slurred, even having had only one beer; she'd forgotten that he was a bit of a lightweight. Not that she was much different.

"Progress is slow," said Gough.

"CCT signal's not too strong out here," said Gil.

"Good. No drunk texting, Gil," she said.

"I'm not drunk."

"Wolfy's going to pressure you to drink more," she said. "He can be very persuasive on that front. Don't give in."

"I said I'd only have the one," said Gil. "I meant it." His eyes darted back down to his scroll. "We've already looked up Operation Mirror – as in, reflective mirrors, not towns – and it's nothing. Well, unless Professor Ozpin was referring to a bug on older scrolls that would cause them to send infinite messages to itself until it crashed."

"Doubtful," said Ciaran.

Gough peaked over Gil's shoulder. "The page has loaded," he said.

"Excellent. And… nothing." Gilderoy tilted the scroll towards Ciaran. The article was a stub; all it said was that Operation Mirrah was a Valean military operation from the Great War. There were no further details, only a redirect link to the Operation Mirror page.

"You could ask Logan," suggested Gough.

"Professor Brim isn't big on history," said Ciaran. "If Professor Port knows about it, you'd probably get a detailed account. But Doctor Oobleck's your best bet."

"I have his number," said Gilderoy.

"Won't he be on a mission right now?"

"Maybe? If he's busy, he'll tell us." Gilderoy scrolled through his contacts list.

It took a couple of moments for Oobleck to pick up. _"Good afternoon Doctor Oobleck speaking how can I help you?"_ His voice was a little fuzzy, as was the picture quality.

"This is Gilderoy Ornstein from Team GWIN? I hope this isn't a bad time."

" _Not at all! I've just been spending my day better acquainting myself with a team of wonderful first-years from Atlas before we depart for our mission tomorrow. But I've got time on my hands now; how can I help?"_

"Would you know anything about Operation Mirrah?" asked Gilderoy.

" _The glitch with the scrolls?"_

"Mirrah – as in the town of Mirrah," clarified Gough.

" _Ah, yes, of course, one moment please."_ He disappeared from the screen; it sounded as though he were rummaging for something.

"Doctor?" Gilderoy called.

" _I'm just checking if this is on the fourth year curriculum, because it certainly should be. Just – hold on a second…"_

"What'd I miss?" Artorias scooted over to their end of the table. "Gil, no drunk texting."

"I'm not drunk," he said, rolling his eyes.

"No? We'll have to change that." He drained his glass. "I'll get the next round. Whaddaya want?"

"I'm good," said Gil.

"Beer, then. Ciaran, Gough?"

"Whatever you're getting," said Ciaran.

"Oh, the opportunity!"

"No absinthe."

"You're no fun. Gough?"

"I believe I'm done for the night."

"Alrighty then."

"How come he gets out of it?" said Gilderoy.

"You're more fun to mess with!" called Artorias, already halfway to the bar.

There was an almighty crash, and Oobleck reappeared on the screen, a massive binder in hand. The pages blurred as he flicked through them. _"Right then, let's see… it seems not! I'll have to correct that for the future."_ Oobleck slammed the binder shut and shoved it off-screen. There was a thud, and a screeching like a cat had been violently startled.

" _There's a document in the Vale Museum Archives referring to Operation Mirrah by name, you see, but the community of historians is somewhat divided on what Operation Mirrah actually was. The Valean public – you're familiar with the fall of Mirrah, correct? The Valean public pinned the fall of Mirrah on Mantle rather than on the creatures of Grimm. Public opinion was at an all-time low. Some historians suggest that, as a result of this, the Valean military's internal codename for their ill-fated counterattack onto Mantle soil was Operation Mirrah; that is certainly what I believe. But there are also some who believe that the fall of Mirrah was an inside job; hence, Operation Mirrah. Those are the two most popular theories. A few others suggest that it was an attempt to capture and train Grimm to fight for Vale, or that it referred to the mission in which Vale combed the ruins for survivors."_

"And this would be good for fourth years because…" Ciaran trailed off.

" _Because in researching Operation Mirrah and in positing further hypotheses or disproving current ones, Beacon's students would be actively contributing to our understanding of history! I'm rather glad you brought it to my attention, in fact. Thank you very much."_

"This document in the museum – is it publicly available?" asked Gough.

Oobleck's eyes lit up with glee. _"I see it's piqued your interest! The original, unfortunately, is not; the document was found in rather poor condition. Much of it is illegible, so to prevent further damage, access to it is highly restricted. It should, I think, be on display for the Vytal exhibit however – obviously within a protective case, but if you wanted to take a look at it…"_

"We'll check it out," said Gilderoy. "Thank you for your time, Doctor."

" _Not a problem! I am a teacher, you know – this is my job, and I'm happy to help. Good luck with your mission!"_ He took a quick drink from his thermos, then ended the call.

They looked between each other in silence for a moment. "Well," said Gough, breaking the silence. "It's something."

"Not much, though. Sounds like _nobody_ knows what Operation Mirrah was," said Ciaran. "Not for sure."

Gilderoy pursed his lips. "It shouldn't matter. Perhaps Professor Ozpin meant nothing by it."

"I doubt he does anything without reason," said Gough. He stretched his arms, his back cracking. "I'm doing the responsible thing and going to bed," he said. "Don't let Artorias keep you up too late. We're up early tomorrow."

"I suppose I'll have indulge him for another round," said Gil, straightening in his seat to look around the room. "Where'd he go, anyway?"

/-/

"Specialist Vordt," the specialist introduced himself. "It's good to finally meet you in person." He offered Vengarl a handshake.

"Likewise," said Vengarl gruffly. He didn't take Vordt up on the offer, looking straight past him to the team.

"Hey Em!" Ruby called. Emerald shared an awkward glance with the silver-haired boy at her side, then smiled and waved back.

"I trust you and yours are prepared, Atlesian," said Vengarl.

"The decoy is of little consequence," dismissed Vordt. His gaze shifted from Vengarl to Ruby and her team, his eyes narrowed. "Does the council know that Beacon has sent their own team?"

"Doesn't matter to me," said Vengarl.

"I hear many members of the council have made enemies of Professor Ozpin. They could be compromised."

Weiss started forwards. Yang laid an arm on her shoulder. "Let them talk it out," she murmured.

"Ozpin would be willing to cross the council," admitted Vengarl, "but not me."

"Consider that-"

"I _have_ considered," said Vengarl, turning back to Team RWBY. "Take a seat. We've got some waiting to do."

They shrugged to each other and made their way across the warehouse. There was a table at one end, another map laid out across it, their route and Vordt's route both marked out. A few chairs were around it; Ruby, Weiss, and Yang all sat, while Blake leaned against the wall. Vengarl frowned and rolled up the map. "Best not to leave anything behind," he said.

"What was his problem?" asked Weiss.

"His concerns are not illegitimate," said Vengarl. Ruby and Yang shared a glance.

"What do you mean, Gramps?"

He sighed. "Trusting Ozpin is… dangerous," he explained. "I am not unaware of that. But Vordt does not have my experience. If Ozpin wanted to steal the painting, he would not send the likes of you. No offence." He brought out a lighter and set the map alight. It burned slowly. Vengarl put it down on the concrete floor and took a seat, keeping his eye firmly on it.

"How long until the shipment arrives?" asked Blake.

"Half an hour, if it's on time," said Vengarl.

Ruby let out a groan. "Waiting sucks," she muttered.

Yang reclined in her chair and laced her fingers behind her head. "I could go for a power-nap."

"A half hour power nap?" Weiss scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. You'd be snoring into the morning."

"And good snorning to you too," Yang grinned.

Vengarl was still watching the burning map, but he snorted at Yang's pun.

"Watcha thinking about, old man?"

Smoke blew towards him. He breathed deeply. "Fumes," he said.

/-/

There was a rather familiar face further down the bar.

It took Artorias a moment to place it. A gaunt face hidden in lanky unkempt hair; it was Lautrec, unless he was very much mistaken.

"What do you want?" asked the bartender.

"Yeah… drinks can wait," he said, stepping towards Lautrec. He grabbed a stool and took a seat next to the older Huntsman.

"Didn't expect to see you here," he said.

Lautrec lazily looked over to him. His breath stank of alcohol. "Oh. It's you."

"It's me," said Artorias. "Not looking for another fight."

Lautrec nodded and took a swig from his glass. "Good."

"I'm here for information. What happened at Izalith?"

"You and your girlfriend beat me up, remember?" he slurred.

"The fall of Izalith, Lautrec. What happened?"

Lautrec paused, his glass half-raised to his lips again. His eyes searched Artorias'. "Izalith fell?" he said.

Artorias caught Lautrec's wrist as he began to raise his glass again. Something seemed to swirl under the older Huntsman's skin where Artorias gripped him; a white light of sorts. Artorias ignored it for the moment. "I know you were there, Lautrec."

Lautrec jerked his hand away; some whiskey spilled over the side. The light beneath his skin faded. "Good for you." He drained his glass and gestured to the bartender for a refill.

"The knight amongst the Grimm. Who was he?"

"A right bastard is what he is," slurred Lautrec. "How should I know?"

A fair point. Expecting _any_ sane person to know about a man who could seemingly command the Grimm was a stretch. "Did you know Anastacia Sil?" Artorias asked.

Lautrec froze.

"What happened to her, Lautrec?" Artorias growled.

Lautrec was poured another drink; he ignored it, instead turning to face Artorias directly. "What is a god to you, Wolf?" he asked.

"Answer the question."

"Answer mine."

Artorias grimaced. "I don't care."

"If you want answers, you'll give a few in return."

Artorias shrugged, struggling for an answer. "I guess it's someone with power."

"Too broad." Lautrec blindly reached for his glass, missing it a few times before managing to successfully pick it up. "Your god is whoever controls you. My god is whoever controls me. That's how I see it."

"What are you getting at?"

"Tell me _this_ , Wolf: what does it feel like to control someone? To decide their fate in an _instant_ – how does that feel to you?"

Amity. Glyph. Blood.

Pleading blue eyes.

Artorias knew how it felt. It felt good. But that wasn't quite right, it didn't quite capture how he'd felt in that moment.

Relieved. He'd felt relieved, for sure. But also a little scared that he'd enjoy killing. But his fear had been so quickly overwhelmed by the rush of power. It was…

"It was intoxicating," said Artorias, truthfully. And, while he felt justified in taking Quill's life, he wasn't sure he'd have decided differently had he been placed in control of another man's fate. Power felt _good._ Control felt _good._

"Then you understand," said Lautrec. He drained his glass and stood. "I did exactly what I wanted to do, because it made me feel good."

"You killed her," Artorias whispered.

Lautrec, having already taken a few steps towards the stairs, whirled around. "I did the only thing that made sense," he snarled. "What would _you_ do? Let's say your friends – assuming you had any – beat your brother to an _inch_ of his life? What would you do? Let's say daddy dearest just… walked out – when you were young, perhaps, and it made your life miserable? What would you do if you found him? What would _you_ do if your sister killed your parents through her own stupidity?"

"I don't have a sister."

"Hypothetical siblings, hypothetical abandonment issues, hypothetical friends." He stumbled a little, bracing himself against the bar with one hand to steady himself. "Inaction is just... we don't blame inaction. It's just as much a choice as anything else – and she _made_ it. It's a choice for cowards, Wolf. Apathy is death. Worse than death. A corpse feeds the carrion." He spat at Artorias' feet. "She got what she deserved."

"Who was she to you?"

"I was her god," he slurred.

"Who was she to you, Lautrec?"

Lautrec stumbled again, more this time. "…murderer," he muttered. Then he fell to the floor, out cold.

Artorias sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and turned back to the bartender. "Is there a jail around this town?"

"Does this look like Vacuo to you?"

"Reckon you could get someone to haul this guy over?"

"On what authority?"

"Dude." Artorias deadpanned. "I'm a Huntsman."

The bartender peered over the bar to Lautrec. "He's one of us, though. That matters a bit."

"He's from here? Got family?"

"Not anymore." The bartender shrugged. "Guess he's trouble enough. I'll get one of the boys to do it."

"Thanks," said Artorias. "Right. I'll get one beer and – do you think you could mix some mustard into a drink?"

"No."

"Damn. Two neat scotches, then."

/-/

"Target is clear," said Yang, jumping to her feet. "Repositioning."

" _Copy that,"_ said Ruby over their scrolls. _"We have a, uh, a visual on the target, you are cleared for the repositioning operation, copy, over."_

Blake audibly sighed.

" _Miss Schnee,"_ said Vengarl calmly. He was travelling with the cargo itself. _"You will handle communication for team one."_

" _Of course,"_ said Weiss.

Yang dashed across the rooftop, not too far behind Blake. She had to use her gauntlets sparingly at this point due to the noise, as they were coming up on the upper-class district. Blake would be in position first; Yang just had to make sure she was there on time.

" _Target is at the road's halfway point,"_ said Weiss.

" _I repeat-"_

" _Miss Rose?"_

" _Yeah?"_

" _Repetition is not necessary."_

There was a muffled, _"Hmph!"_

Further down the street, Blake was already at her post; yet another rooftop. For this particular street, they would both be observing from the same position. Yang boosted herself across to it with one muted shotgun blast.

"Late again."

"Not fair." Yang wasn't bothered by it, of course. There was a chimney on this roof; she leaned against it, her gaze panning up and down the street.

"Do you hear that?" asked Blake.

"Hmm?" Yang couldn't see any potential threats, but then, it was really rather dark. Darker than she'd anticipated.

"It's like…" Blake looked around. "It echoes."

"Huh." In fact, it was _really_ dark – she could barely see the houses down at the corner where the target would be turning onto their street.

" _Target is clear,"_ said Weiss. _"Repositioning."_

"It's too dark, I can't see it," said Yang. "Blake?"

And then Yang heard it. It seemed like a footstep, but just as Blake had said it echoed in the open air. And what was that other sound? A strange keening, wailing, that she only now realised had been lingering on the edge of her perception the entire mission.

"I can't see either," said Blake. Yang looked to her wide-eyed.

" _Team two, get to street level!"_ roared Vengarl. Sounds came at them in a flurry over the scroll; it seemed like Vengarl had jumped out of the van. There was the sound of metal striking metal, but Yang still couldn't see anything past the darkness that had engulfed the street. She and Blake shared another glance, then leapt down to the street. _"Team one, continue with the cargo – contact the Atlesian!"_ There was another clang. _"Move to assist us once the Atlesian team arrives at the cargo. Team two, where are you?"_

"We're here!" Yang rolled to the side as the van emerged from the strange darkness, then a pair of shotgun blasts accelerated her forwards. The moaning was deafening now; she aimed herself straight towards it, cocking back a fist…

A shape emerged. Tall Thin. Spindly. That was all Yang saw. It ducked beneath her ill-timed blow, and Yang landed too far behind to see more than a haunting silhouette.

But she could hear the crying.

/-/

" _Unidentified assailant on the target,"_ Weiss' voice crackled over Vordt's scroll. _"Our team will keep the assailant busy. Vengarl is requesting that you get to the cargo."_

"Understood. We're on our way," said Vordt. He wore a sinister grin, his pale blue eyes glowing in the darkness.

"You said our job was to protect the artefact," said Cinder, her eyes narrowed.

"It is," said Vordt. He dialled another number into his scroll and tossed it to Cinder; she caught it without looking away from him. "You two, with me. Someone wants to have a little word with you, Cinder."

Mercury and Emerald looked to her expectantly. "Be on your guard," she said, but waved for them to go. Whatever Vordt was planning, it didn't seem as though they were on his hitlist. And even if they were, she trusted them to save their own skins, if nothing else.

" _Touching."_

Cinder looked down at the scroll. On the screen was a man, his face long and thin, with a hooked nose and pale purple eyes that somehow seemed to burn; with what, Cinder could never tell.

"Sulyvahn," she said by way of greeting. "A pleasure as always."

" _And oh, the flattery!"_ His voice was deep, smooth, warm, inviting. Deceptive, too.

"Say what you have to say, Councilman," she said curtly.

" _I'd rather have you ask."_

"I won't beg."

" _Pity."_ He didn't seem terribly sincere on that count. _"Vordt is doing his job well, I hope?"_

"If his job is to protect the cargo, then yes."

" _It is,"_ said Sulyvahn. _"But_ she _has quite a different goal. It sounds like she's already started."_

And then it clicked into place. What did Sulyvahn know of the mission? He knew of the artefact, and of Vengarl.

"Arrogance was always your ugliest trait," she said. "Even Raime wouldn't try-"

" _Come now. We both know Raime is a fool."_ She couldn't exactly argue with that. _"He makes the mistake of fighting fairly. I will not be making that mistake."_

"I'll be interested to see how that works for you."

" _I won't be,"_ Sulyvahn dismissed. " _It matters not to me if Vengarl survives the night. I am an opportunist. Sometimes you wait for opportunities. Sometimes you make them. And sometimes they just fall in your lap. Whether he lives or dies, I will make my point."_

Cinder frowned. "And what point would that be?"

He smiled. It made Cinder distinctly uncomfortable, though she didn't let it show. _"I thought you'd never ask. Do you know who I sent for Vengarl?"_

Cinder didn't respond.

" _I'd hoped that you were better informed, Cinder."_ But he didn't stop smiling, and Cinder knew that he'd kept it a secret on purpose. _"Well – this will have quite a bit less impact – but I'm sure you'll understand my meaning. Go and see for yourself. I'll wait."_

"I'm not your pet, Sulyvahn."

" _No,"_ he said, _"you most certainly aren't. But you_ are _curious. Aren't you?"_

It was a play for power, and Cinder knew it. But at the same time, she knew that Sulyvahn held the cards; short of hanging up and pretending that he didn't exist, she couldn't do anything to him. And, petty an act as it would be, she'd risk Sulyvahn taking the matter higher up the chain of command…

Who would Salem side with? She'd probably berate the both of them, to be honest – still an unfavourable outcome.

A little compromise, then.

She smiled at him. Sulyvahn's smile broadened – then her finger grazed the 'end call' button. "Oops," she said.

Oh, she'd call him back. He wasn't wrong – she _was_ curious. Not just about the would-be assassin, but about Sulyvahn's mysterious 'point'.

But Cinder was nothing if not patient. She could afford to let him stew in his own twisted thoughts for a while first.

/-/

Blake couldn't see.

It was probably one of the most terrifying experiences she'd ever been through, even having once been in a toxic relationship and on the run from the law at the same time. She'd never feared the dark. Faunus didn't have to. They could see just fine.

But not here.

Her heart pounded in her chest. Her ears picked up the slight whistling of a blade through the air. Every instinct screamed at her to jump, and she did, a flaming, curved sword emerging from the darkness and passing beneath her. At her side, she saw the silhouette of Vengarl catch the sword on his own two blades; massive, ancient weapons, covered in rust but still sturdy. With a snarl, he pushed the flaming sword aside and slashed towards it; he struck air.

Blake moved towards him, and they stood back to back, peering into the darkness. It would be better not to split up.

"Where did Yang go?" he asked.

"She charged in ahead of me," she said. "I don't know."

The distinct sound of the blonde's shotgun gauntlets reached Blake's ears. She and Vengarl shared a glance before rushing towards it, staying close together.

"Don't! Touch! The! Hair!"

Whoever – or rather, _whatever_ it was, it was big. Even hunched almost double, it towered over Vengarl, its elongated limbs lending it an alien air. Metal armour clung to its body, and its face was obscured by a strange mask like a grate.

It also had Yang in its right hand, raising her well off the ground. The blonde was firing blasts off into the mask.

Vengarl slammed into its leg bodily, and the creature stumbled with a wail, dropping Yang. It whirled around, swinging wildly at Vengarl; the blade caught Yang instead, halfway to the ground, and the blonde tumbled off into the darkness once more, her aura taking the blow.

Blake gritted her teeth and dashed in. The creature, busy fending off Vengarl's assault, did little to stop her, and leaping towards its face Blake managed to land a flurry of blows. It let out another cry and slapped her away with its right hand; a clone righted her in the air, and she landed lightly, still close enough to see the faint glow of the creature's sword in the darkness.

And then even that disappeared.

"What's going on?" she called, moving towards where she'd last seen it. There was no response. "Vengarl? Yang?"

How the hell could humans live without being able to see in the dark? It was such a horrible, horrible feeling, knowing that something could come out of every shadow and she might never realise until it was too late. Footsteps continued to echo around her, seemingly from every direction; she whirled around, half expecting that flaming sword to come out at her again.

"Argh!"

"Gramps!"

Yang came barrelling out of the darkness past her towards the sound; Blake followed suit. It seemed the creature had a penchant for grabbing, for it had Vengarl in its grasp, his arms locked at his sides, swords still held tightly. It must have sneaked up on him, Blake realised.

She tried the same tactic that Vengarl had used, and charged, slamming into the creature's leg – it stumbled, but did not drop him. It turned to her, snakelike in its movement, and screeched, the sound almost making her ears bleed. Then, it reared up on its legs, drawing itself to its massive daunting height – and slammed Vengarl down on the ground, bringing the sword down to impale him.

The moment its grasp loosened, Vengarl dropped his swords and his arms shot out in front of him, his hands closing around the tip of the sword to hold it mere centimetres from his chest, his muscles straining from the effort. "I hate to be the 'a little help' guy," he growled, "but a little help?"

Blake and Yang sprang into action, Yang charging at its legs and Blake leaping up to harass its sword arm. It screeched again and fell back. There was a yell, and Ruby fell from above, scythe twirling downwards. The massive weapon scraped along the creature's back, sparking its sickly grey-blue aura. A glyph lit up beneath Ruby as she landed, and she charged again. The creature was knocked backwards into the darkness.

There was another wail that split the night.

Then the darkness left, and Blake let out a sigh of relief. They could see it clearly now – it was disappearing into a portal much too small for it, screaming as it did so.

Then it was gone.

"Are you alright, sir?" asked Weiss.

"The painting - did it make it?"

"It should be there by now," said Ruby.

He reached for his scroll, raising it only a little before dropping it with a snarl.

"Are you alright?" Blake asked.

"Don't call me sir," he said. "One of you contact Vordt. Miss Schnee – some freeze dust, if you would."

He raised his hands; his gloves had been burned right through, and the skin beneath was already blistering, though no blood had been drawn. It mustn't have managed to fully break through his aura, though if his aura wasn't healing it, it must have been quite low indeed.

"I'll call them," said Ruby. "I have Emerald's number."

"What _was_ that thing?" asked Yang.

"I don't know," said Vengarl.

Weiss handed him a blue crystal. "It seems to have left us with a lot of… burning questions," she smirked.

"Was that supposed to be a pun?"

"Hey!" She pointed an accusing finger at Yang. "I won't get anywhere if I don't practice."

"No, but… you know what? Fine, it wasn't _terrible_."

" _Thank_ you."

/-/

Cinder dialled in Sulyvahn's number. She hadn't been able to see the fight, of course, what with the darkness – but she'd seen it – her – whatever it was, when it was leaving, and she'd seen the aftermath. She knew what fire could do to an aura, how it could drain it, how it could go straight through it – and she had to admit, Sulyvahn's little pet had done far better than she'd anticipated. In fact, it was entirely possible that Vengarl would be dead, if he hadn't had backup.

But it was never wise to underestimate the enemy.

" _I suppose you saw her, then,"_ said Sulyvahn. The thing was somehow already back in Atlas, stalking back and forth behind Sulyvahn like a caged beast. _"Impressive, no?"_

"I don't think she likes you." Cinder could still hear that horrible moaning over the scroll.

" _She is like a daughter to me,"_ said Sulyvahn. _"Do you see my point, yet?"_

"Is it about not fighting fairly? I suppose it gets some results - nothing I didn't know."

 _"This isn't about Raime,"_ he said. " _I would risk my daughter against a man as dangerous as Vengarl,"_ he said. _"Believe that I would risk her against you. Or your pets. I would risk anything to take you down, if it came to it. My daughter. My position. My freedom."_

"Why?"

" _I will be joining General Ironwood in Vale when the tournament begins. I will need your assistance."_ He held up a hand and stroked his creature's face; its wailing quietened a little. _"If you do not obey me, I will send her for you – or, perhaps, your pets. Maybe both."_ He shrugged. _"And if that doesn't work, I will hand you over to Ozpin and Ironwood."_

"Salem won't stand for this," she said. "She will kill you if you interfere. You're bluffing."

He didn't seem perturbed. _"I would risk everything,"_ he repeated. _"Remnant has become a world of opportunity. I will have it all, or I will have none of it."_

"Arrogance," she muttered. "I already owed you a favour. You could have called it in when you arrived."

He shook his head. _"No. This goes beyond one favour. And, if all goes well, this will go far beyond Vale. I want your loyalty, willing or otherwise."_

Loyalty?

She peered at him on the screen. What was that burning in his eyes?

That was ambition.

He wasn't bluffing.


	17. No Brakes

"Hey Boss!" Perry's voice came from outside the train car. Not that this one was actually called Perry; or, at least, Roman didn't think so. He'd just taken to calling all of them Perry – it made things easier for him. And they'd stopped objecting, eventually. "Found something you might wanna see!"

"Is it good or bad Perry? Cause lemme tell ya – I have _had_ a _day._ "

"Uh… it's some Huntsmen."

Well. Whatever that was, it certainly wasn't good. Roman stepped over to the door to the train car and leaned out, looking at his subordinates and their prisoners. "That would be…" He trailed off in shock.

There were six White Fang and two prisoners. The White Fang were lined up in twos, the front two pairs holding the Huntsmen with tight grips: a monkey faunus Roman recognised in front, and a green-haired boy behind him.

The last two White Fang were holding their weapons. Except they weren't White Fang. They _definitely_ weren't White Fang. Sure, they wore the masks and the uniforms – but one of them was wearing a pair of familiar goggles over his mask, and the other had a red jacket slung over his shoulder.

He tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and breathed out one word. "Idiots."

When he looked back, the two grunts who'd been holding the green-haired boy were gone. The Huntsman in question was pulling himself to his feet.

"If I turn around, you'll just take out these two, won't you?" Roman asked, directing his question to the two abysmally disguised Huntsmen.

"Huh?" Perry and Perry looked at each other in confusion.

"Probably," said Goggles.

Roman let out another long breath. "Okay," he said. In one swift movement, he levelled his cane at the monkey and fired.

When the smoke cleared, Perry-number-one was unconscious, having been thrown a few metres by the blast. Perry-number-two was stumbling away, shaking his head, his ears bleeding a little, aura still sparking from where shrapnel had struck it. The Huntsmen had scattered and avoided the worst of the blast, save for the monkey, whose aura Roman could see crackling and sparking from his skin. The noise had drawn a lot of attention as well. All around the base, White Fang were poking their heads out.

"Oh for the love of- they're infiltrators!" Roman roared. "Kill them!"

There was a moment of complete stillness while the White Fang grabbed their weapons. Then, chaos. There was gunfire everywhere. Roman watched for a moment, assessing the competency of the Huntsmen; they were making quick work of the White Fang. He let out a growl and grabbed the closest Perry. "Attach this car and spread the word. We're starting the train."

"But we're not finished!"

With his cane, Roman shoved Perry against the car. "Do it, or you're finished."

/-/

"I said it'd work!"

"Only because of the disguises," said Scarlet. "And who's idea was that again…?"

"Yes, yes, you're both very clever," Neptune drawled, tearing off the stifling uniform. He was still wearing his usual outfit underneath – perhaps the oddly bulky profile was what had given it away to Torchwick.

" _Get to your places, we are leaving now!"_ Torchwick's voice came over a speaker. The train stirred, the old wheels screeching as they began to turn.

"Waddaya think they're doing?" Sun asked.

Sage was already running towards the back of the train. "Whatever it is, it isn't good!" He leaped into the last car and beckoned for them to follow. Neptune looked to the rest of his team; with a shrug, they took off, Scarlet using the hook in the grip of his gun to hasten his approach.

Neptune just managed to grab onto the back before the train accelerated too far for him to catch up. He climbed up on top of the rear car, just in time to see the rest of the team leaping over onto the next. "Hurry up!" called Sun.

"There's a bomb in the car!" called Scarlet.

"Just _one_ moment to breathe would be nice," muttered Neptune, following them over to the next car. Almost the very moment he landed the jump, the previous car disconnected.

"They really don't want us on here," observed Scarlet.

There was a beeping sound that only just registered in Neptune's hearing. He followed it to a hatch in the middle of the car. "Another bomb," he said, just as the first bomb exploded.

"What the hell are they doing?" said Sage.

Sun was already over on the next car. "More bombs!" he called back to them. "They all have bombs! Get over here!"

"Sun! Look out!" Sage yelled, leaping the gap.

There was a White Fang climbing onto the roof of the train behind Sun. He turned, whipping his staff around to clobber the faunus in the face. There were more further along the train: "Get the humans!" yelled one.

"That rules me out, then," said Sun with a grin.

Neptune brought up his rifle and fired off a trio of shots, each catching a White Fang square in the chest and knocking them off their feet. Ahead of him, Scarlet rushed over onto the next car, firing off shots from his own pistol; after another quick barrage, Neptune followed suit, the last car detaching moments before he made the jump. As a team, they rushed forwards, putting as much ground between themselves and the dwindling rear of the train as they could, knocking aside any White Fang who got in their way.

The rooves were cleared quickly – as Neptune finally took a moment to breathe, another explosion rocked the tunnel.

Then roars.

They looked back. Grimm were pouring out of holes in the walls and in the ceiling left by the explosions.

"Wonderful," muttered Sage.

"What's he trying to do? Where's this train going?" Scarlet asked.

"Hey, don't ask me man," said Neptune. "Sun. Plan?"

"Oh, this one's a _great_ plan, let me tell you – the best plan-"

"Stop the train?" Sage deadpanned.

"Yeah. That's the plan," said Sun.

Further ahead, near the front of the train, a bunch of robots leapt up onto the roof; Neptune recognised them as the same ones from their little jaunt in Vale.

"Might I suggest we go _through_ the train instead of over it?" said Neptune.

"Sounds good to me," said Sun. Scarlet and Sage shrugged their approval, and they dropped into the car.

"There's an emergency brake here," said Sage. Sure enough, there was one on the wall. He stepped over to it and turned the lever. It spun freely; it must have been disconnected.

"Yeah. They thought of that."

"Front of the train, then?" Sage said sheepishly.

"Yup," said Sun, popping the 'p'.

They sprinted through the train, hearing weight footsteps on the roof above them. Occasionally, gunfire rained down through the roof as the Paladins tried to lock them down, but it was too difficult for them to track the Huntsmen, and it was little more than a nuisance. Eventually, they came to a car without a bomb. Halfway to the door, their path was blocked by a diminutive girl with mismatched eyes, a parasol, and a vicious smile.

"Oh. Hey," said Neptune.

"Keep her off us, Neptune," said Sage, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Got it."

"She's dangerous, remember? Don't take risks," Sun warned him.

"I won't."

"I mean it."

"Don't worry man. I got it," said Neptune. "I _got_ it."

"You better," muttered Sun. Then they ran onwards. Neptune fired off a couple of blasts at Neo as they dashed past her, and she was forced to defend, opening her parasol towards him. His shots dissipated on its surface.

"I'm happy to sit here and shoot at you if you try to follow them," called Neptune. "So if we're both happy to just sit tight…"

Neo's smile turned into a pout, and she shook her head at him.

"No?"

Neo shrugged, then drew her thumb across her throat.

"You want to kill me?"

She shook her head again and opened her mouth, miming screaming, then pointed at Neptune, a smug smile on her face.

"Oh." _Just pain. No death. Or maybe both?_

She nodded vigorously and began walking towards him slowly, her parasol speaking for her as she trailed the sharp tip along the floor.

/-/

Sun, Sage, and Scarlet continued onwards. Charging over to the next car, they found three White Fang grunts, their guns trained on the doorway.

"Look, gents, there's no need to- okay, nevermind!" Sun started forwards, at first trying to placate them, but he was forced to bring out his staff to deflect the gunfire. Sage and Scarlet dashed past him, quickly knocking out the Fang.

"No time to play nice," Sage growled.

"Worth a try," Sun shrugged.

The first thing they heard upon entering the next train car was a strange shuddering, a rapid whirring like a chainsaw. Then they saw him: a giant of a faunus, dragging his weapon (and, indeed, it _was_ a chainsaw) along the floor sending sparks flying by his feet.

"I got this one," Sage said, putting on speed. He broke ahead of Scarlet and Sun, bringing up his greatsword in a lumbering, powerful strike. The Fang was forced onto his back foot, though he returned the assault whole-heartedly not moments later.

"Go!" Sage roared. Scarlet and Sun obliged. The door to the next car opened for them. It closed behind them, masking the sound of the chainsaw.

"Hello there, monkey boy," said Roman Torchwick, spinning his cane obnoxiously. "Ya miss me?"

"Uh-"

"I tell you what, I'd miss me. So – who's the boyfriend?"

Sun and Scarlet shared a look. "I'll handle him," said Sun. "You stop the train."

"Got it."

They charged together. Sun split his staff into gunchucks as he ran and began his assault the moment he reached the flamboyant criminal, ramping up the speed of his attacks faster than he ever had before. Roman matched his pace, his eyes narrowed and jaw clenched, cane darting back and forth to knock aside the weapons before they could do serious damage to him. It didn't take long for it wear Sun's stamina down, and in the brief reprieve Roman turned, reversing the grip on his cane, and the handle shot out, catching Scarlet in the shoulder.

"The train's on a tight sched-argh!" Sun used the distraction to kick Roman backwards. "You little street-rat!" He paused. "Is that racist?"

"I'm clearly a-"

"I don't care." Roman moved between Scarlet and the door and pointed his cane at Sun. "Your aura's not looking great, kid," he said. "Stay back."

"How do you know?"

"Trade secret."

Sun checked his scroll: his aura was hovering a little above fifty percent – not dangerous, but not good either. Sage and Scarlet were doing fine.

Neptune's was low, and even as he watched it dropped lower.

His mouth set in a grim line, and he turned his gunchucks back into a staff. "Plan B," said Scarlet. "We take him together."

"Cute. The power of love and friendship – I'm _sure_ it'll work out just fine," mocked Torchwick.

/-/

Neptune was having a bad day.

It was a real struggle to keep the little minx off him – she was too damn fast, and slippery too. He'd found one, maybe two openings to strike back, but none of his attacks connected – or, if they did, they bounced harmlessly off her damn parasol. Meanwhile, she ran (or rather, _danced_ ) circles around him, no single blow doing enough to incapacitate him, but slowly wearing him down all the same.

And she wore that stupid mocking grin the whole time. She was _loving_ this. Neptune suspected that if she wasn't enjoying his frantic attempts to defend himself, she'd have already knocked him out. Or killed him.

His back to the wall, he fended aside a flurry of kicks with his trident, one or two connecting with his midriff but the bulk glancing aside. An opportunity presented itself; a more powerful kick than the norm from overhead (and how she'd achieved that feat of acrobatics, Neptune would never understand) missed, slamming into the floor by his side. Improvising, he went for a kick of his own. She dodged, of course, moving away from him with a hurt expression on her face, but it bought him some room.

His trident transformed back into a rifle. He didn't even bring it up into position before starting to fire, a volley of shots which dissipated off her parasol. He kept shooting, circling around so he had the entire length of the car to retreat down should he need it, then leapt forwards, his rifle transforming back into a guando, and from there into a trident. He stabbed forwards, tearing straight through the fabric of the parasol.

Neo's eyes spoke of murder.

She charged him, flipping into a somersault just before she reached him. Her legs wrapped around his neck and she spun, building momentum, before flinging him upwards towards the roof.

Then there was a sound like the end of the world in his ears; a screeching, shuddering cacophony that drowned out all other sounds.

 _We've hit something,_ he realised.

The opposite wall was bending and warping and rushing to meet him. Pain registered – his shoulder hit the metal first.

Then the world went dark.

/-/

An alarm sounded.

Ciaran's alarm, to be precise.

"That means we should wake up," Ciaran groaned.

"I'm awake," he muttered, pushing himself out of his bed. It hadn't been terribly comfortable, but his back wasn't too sore. "Dunno about you."

"Just… gimme a minute."

"Wow." She didn't sound too good. "Hangover?"

"Just irritable."

"That's my line."

"What's yours is mine." She sighed, then sat up, rubbing her temples.

"Ready for another _exciting_ day of doing nothing?" Artorias drawled.

"Sure. This may be a surprise to you, but I don't mind doing nothing. You, on the other hand, have to play spotter for Gough."

"Exactly. Doing nothing." He groaned and stretched, easing out the kinks in his muscles, then reached for his jerkin. "We've got an hour, right?"

"Did I not set the alarm for six-thirty?"

"Didn't you?"

"Of course I did," she snapped.

Artorias breathed deeply. It certainly felt like six-thirty. The air was fresh and cold, and while it wasn't strictly _dark_ outside, very little light filtered through the blinds. But still – he'd rather spend such a morning sleeping.

He'd rather spend most of his time sleeping, to be fair.

"You three go… do whatever."

"Get breakfast?"

"Yeah. That. I've got to make a call," he lied.

"Really." It wasn't a question, more of an expression of disbelief. "A call?"

"Yup. A call."

"If you say so. Remember, east gate, one hour."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, already heading to the door, adjusting the strap on his pauldron. "I'll be there."

/-/

_Why?_

"Wake up."

Lautrec came around slowly, his eyes blinking sluggishly. Aura could do much to stave off the effects of time, but that didn't mean he hadn't aged. For one, he couldn't drink like he used to.

And how much had he drunk to end up in a cell?

It came rushing back to him. The wolf from Izalith. This was his fault, surely. And he'd known, too. He'd known about Anastacia. Or he'd worked it out. Lautrec's memory was fuzzy on that little detail.

_Why?_

Either way – that explained the cell.

So that, at least, wasn't a direct result of drinking.

"I said wake up."

Lautrec peered out through the bars of his cell. The wolf was out there, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed.

"I don't believe I ever caught your name," said Lautrec.

"Artorias," said the wolf simply. "And you're Lautrec. Introductions are over."

Lautrec settled onto his cot. "So. Been a while."

"Smalltalk's over too."

"I think it's supposed to go good cop, _then_ bad cop," quipped Lautrec. "You're jumping the gun a bit."

"I'm not the cop," said Artorias. "When I haul you back to Beacon, Ozpin and Ironwood can play good cop bad cop."

"General Ironwood?" That was interesting. And possibly useful, too. He had no love for Atlas, but if he wanted protection…

_Why?_

"Why did you kill Anastacia?"

"Really – this again?" Lautrec snorted. "It was personal."

Artorias shrugged. "How, then? And when?"

Lautrec sighed. "It was the day before the attack. I went to her home, told her why I was killing her, then I killed her."

_Why?_

And then he'd blacked out.

And the voices had started.

"You were in Izalith for at least a year," Artorias pointed out. "Why did you wait?"

"I think you'll find that that's none of your business," Lautrec sneered. Truth be told, he was convincing himself to do it. He'd searched for her so long – and then it had taken another year to convince himself it was really worth finishing it.

"I'll leave that one for bad cop, then," Artorias dismissed. "Where'd you run off to after Izalith?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Why not?"

"Because _he_ came," said Lautrec. "The knight who commands the Grimm. Where ever I ran, he followed."

Artorias paused, clearly discomforted by the notion. "I never heard of him attacking anywhere else."

"That's because nowhere else had survivors to tell of him," said Lautrec. "Not since Izalith."

"Except you."

"Except me."

"He's hunting you, isn't he?"

Lautrec lay down in his cot again. "How did you find out?"

"Don't change the subject."

"That I killed Anastacia, I mean."

Artorias paused, considering his words carefully. "What you said – control, and fate, and power. What else could you have meant?"

"You wouldn't know unless you'd been there. Been _exactly_ where I was," said Lautrec. Standing over someone, their fate hanging from a rope of whims.

_Why?_

Artorias pursed his lips. "I'll tell you my story if you tell me yours."

"See, I don't particularly care. But I _did_ think there was a story there," said Lautrec offhandedly. And now at least he knew when the ball had dropped. Artorias hadn't known until last night.

"Last night, I swear I saw something – like a second aura _under_ your skin-"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lautrec lied.

"I'm sure you don't."

"You'll leave it to bad cop, then?" Lautrec asked, eyebrow raised.

"I'll leave it to bad cop."

A bell rang outside.

"He'll be coming here, won't he?" Artorias asked.

The bell rang again.

"Three tolls mean Grimm," said Lautrec.

The bell tolled.

_Why?_

Artorias' scroll buzzed in his pocket. "Stay here," said the wolf. "We'll handle it."

"I'm not going anywhere."

/-/

"Artorias!"

" _I hear you."_

Gilderoy stabbed at a lone Boarbatusk as it rolled at him, cracking the bone plates straight through.

" _Orders?"_ Well, in a time of crisis, Artorias didn't play around. Not too much, at least.

"Grimm are coming in through the north gate. I've sent Gough to reinforce the militia. Ciaran and I are cleaning up any Grimm who broke through the line. Go help Gough."

" _Goughing to help Go and going to help Gough. I'm on it."_ Artorias ended the call.

Gil pocketed his scroll as he reached a crossroads; ahead and to his left, the path was clear, but he could hear the sounds of combat to the right. He ran down the street, channelling his aura into his coat, then turned another corner.

The next road led into the main square, where a trio of Ursae were being held back by the earl, wielding a spear with a small crossguard and a strangely twisted blade. "Back!" he roared. Blood leaked from a long gash on his midriff. Behind him, townsfolk cowered back.

_The king braved the horde alone._

A string of letters and runes about his sleeves blazed with furious light. Gilderoy pointed his bident behind him and fired off two blasts, propelling him forwards. At the last moment before he reached the Ursae, he flipped the weapon around to stab the largest of the three through the back of the head, using its body as a fulcrum to pivot over and around, landing between the earl and the remaining two Ursae. One snarled and swiped at him: he dodged left, then leaned forwards into its guard, and a quick twirl of his weapon severed arm from body.

The earl moved forwards to join him only to catch the bite of the other Ursa on his shoulder. His aura – a sickly brownish red – sputtered and sparked to life, preventing further damage, and he stabbed upwards with his spear through the pain to impale the Ursa through the jaw.

The last Ursa, missing an arm, was finished off quickly with a shotgun blast to the temple.

The earl caught Gilderoy's questioning look as the gash on his torso began to heal. "I've a rather complicated semblance," he said, shrugging.

"Hmm. Tell me about it," Gilderoy muttered.

The earl chuckled quietly to himself. "We run Grimm drills regularly," he said. "Everyone knows to gather here."

"Good," said Gilderoy. It'd mean less work chasing down stragglers, on his part. "Do you have ships?"

"We're prepared," said the earl. "No ships, but there's a tunnel running from here to the quarry. We can escape into the mountains from there, or wait for a ship."

"Hopefully that won't be necessary," muttered Gilderoy. "Stay here and guard your people. We'll hold the gate."

/-/

It was oh-so-satisfying.

Precisely six Creeps came charging down the street at Ciaran. Ciaran's revolver had room for precisely six bullets.

All six hit. All six killed.

It felt _damn_ good.

She reloaded her gun, holding it at the ready in her left hand, her gold tracer in the right – a wickedly curved blade just too long to be called a dagger and just too short to be called a shortsword. The eastern end of Carim was to be her jurisdiction. She was almost certain that it was now clear, but the eastern gatehouse was close – she could get a better view of the area from there.

She rounded a corner, two, before reaching the eastern gate. Stairs led up onto the walls, and she bounded up them three at a time, then ran into the gatehouse, up another set of stairs, and onto the roof.

She was right. The area was clear – at least from what she could see. And if her memory hadn't failed her, she'd been down every one of those streets already, so there was a slim chance of there being any Grimm hiding in the shadows of the buildings.

Which meant that it was now her job to reinforce Artorias and Gough at the north gate. Just as she was about to set off, a cawing caught her attention. She looked up.

There was a nevermore – giant, its wings filling the sky and blotting out the sun. And what was that in its grasp?

Was that a man?

The figure was dropped over the town. It landed behind a building, obscuring him from Ciaran's sight.

_That's not good._

/-/

 _This isn't good,_ thought Gough. Artorias was below him, wielding dagger and greatsword – planting the dagger in bone and ground and granite wall to use as a pivot-point, flinging him all over the battlefield, a whirlwind of death. The militia – most of whom had no aura – had rallied behind him. Two had died before their arrival. But still, there were maybe a dozen left, with a motley of guns and swords and spears, in varying states of injury.

By all rights, it should have been going fine.

Then the Goliath came crashing out of the treeline, up the hill towards them.

"Shoot it!" roared Artorias.

Gough obliged.

The first arrow struck it square between the eyes, but bounced off the thick plate of bone. The Goliath let out a great trumpeting sound, and its burning red eyes locked on Gough. Its pace picked up, charging straight at him.

He changed tactic, shooting straight for the knee. The arrow stuck, but the Goliath did not falter, seeming only to pick up speed.

The other knee, then. Again, the Goliath didn't care. And it was getting close, now. Three members of Carim's militia had already broken ranks, fleeing deeper into the town.

As it drew closer, Gough came to realise just how truly _massive_ it was. Its knees were probably as tall as the very wall on which he stood, its shoulders as tall as one of the dorm blocks back at Shade. If it reached the town, it would _crush_ them. All of them.

"Shoot it!" Artorias yelled again, himself knee-deep in Grimm.

Gough nocked another arrow and aimed for its mouth. The Goliath _caught_ it with its trunk and snapped it in two.

"Gough!" Gough looked down behind him. Gilderoy had arrived, stabbing a Beowolf through the chest and then blasting him up onto the wall with his bident rather than taking the stairs. "Shoot me."

"Hmm?"

"Not _literally_ – the grav-dust arrows!"

"Oh."

It was a crazy plan. The kind he'd expect from Artorias, not Gil.

Risky – but he trusted Gil's judgement.

He reached into his quiver and nocked the arrow. It had been modified slightly since early testing with Ruby – the wooden shaft had been shaved down towards the middle and wrapped with leather for a tighter grip. If it hadn't been shaved down, the leather would have caught on the bow itself – but it left the arrow extremely fragile and delicate.

He'd tested the new design twice. It had worked, though not as well as he'd intended.

No time for doubts now. The Goliath was getting closer every second. He drew back the bow. Gilderoy grabbed the grip with one hand and couched his bident with his other arm like a lance.

"Aim for its eye," said Gilderoy. Then he closed his eyes, and his mouth began to move, uttering quiet canticles. He began to glow and spark with lightning.

Gough breathed deeply, took aim… then fired, exhaling at the same time.

Gilderoy shot through the air, crackling like a lightning bolt. His bident bit deep into the Goliath's left eye. The ginormous Grimm trumpeted thunder, its trunk flailing about. But its charge continued, even as its legs gave way and it collapsed under its own weight, gouging a great trench through the ground.

It hit the wall with all the force of a battering ram.

Gough felt the wall beneath him shift and tremble. Then it gave, spidery cracks from the point of impact spreading all along, the granite collapsing in on itself. He leapt backwards and away, landing on the street, but the wall threatened to fall on top of him, and he backed further away.

"Gil!" he roared. The gatehouse fell too, collapsing over the empty iron frame of the gate. "Artorias!"

"Woo!" Artorias howled back, laughing. He must have pushed forwards past the gatehouse, for now he retreated over the rubble. "I got him, Gough!" He was supporting a dazed and stumbling, but still conscious Gilderoy with his left arm. "That was awesome!"

Gilderoy coughed and spluttered before easing out from Artorias' arm. "I'm fine," he said, "but we need to get out of here." He was right: more Grimm were climbing over the collapsed portion of the wall. They wouldn't be able to bottleneck them from here.

"Call Ciaran," Gilderoy groaned. "Tell her to retreat to the square."

"Are you alright?" Artorias asked, concern written on his face. He was lifting a piece of rubble that had trapped one of Carim's militia; the man was still conscious, but clearly in shock, murmuring thanks as though his crushed legs were no big deal. Furthermore, he tried to _stand_ on them.

They'd need to be amputated, Gough realised. They wouldn't heal. Not unless they activated his aura - something they couldn't risk here, and even then... chances were slim.

"Gough, carry him," said Gilderoy. Their leader seemed to shake himself and snap out of his stupor. "Artorias, call Ciaran."

"Just a _moment_ …" Artorias spun, slashing at a Beowolf as it leapt at him, the first of the new wave of Grimm.

"We have to go," said Gough, slinging the wounded man over his shoulder and backhanding a creep away.

"Going Gough and goughing Go," Artorias quipped, dialling in a number as he jogged. "Ciaran? Hey – long time no see, but did you see that Goliath? Awesome, right?"

" _Really bad time."_ Gough didn't even think it was on speaker, but he heard her voice clearly.

"Yeah – I know the feeling," said Artorias. "We're pulling back to the square."

" _Quiet,"_ she said. _"Listen closely."_ Artorias put it on speaker and held it up to his ear.

There was a clash of steel on steel. There was someone there – and they weren't fighting Grimm.

Artorias got the implication as well. His eyes widened in panic. "Lautrec… Ciaran, where are you?"

" _Outside the-"_ another clang masked her words.

"Regroup with me," Artorias commanded. "I'm on my way – keep the line open. Gough, get Gil and… that guy – what's your name?"

The injured man groaned something indiscernible.

"Get 'hnnng' to safety," Artorias said.

"Ciaran, are you safe?" Gilderoy asked. He seemed to have mostly recovered, his speech no longer slow and slurred.

" _More or less."_

"Pull back to the square."

"Belay that," Artorias said. "I'm on my way. Keep the line open."

"Artorias!"

The wolf took off down a side street.

"Artorias!" Gilderoy roared again. "We don't have time!" He started down the street after him, but winced as he put too much weight on his right leg. With a snarl he pushed himself up, using his bident as a staff, then flipped it to shoot a charging Boarbatusk before it reached him.

"They'll be fine," Gough assured him. "We need to go."

"They'd better be."

/-/

Artorias rounded the corner. Ahead of him was the jail; in front of the jail was the knight in all his glory – including, as described in great detail by Kirk, the massive fuck-off-sword, glowing red with each swing. Lautrec was there too, fending him off with one of the metal bars that had once contained him in his cell.

" _I see you."_ Ciaran's voice came over the speaker. _"So – who do we help?"_

"Who do you think?"

" _Well, one was in jail and therefore presumably a criminal, the other was dropped by a Nevermore – not sure if that means the Nevermore was helping him or trying to kill him."_

"Did none of you see him at the inn last night? Really?"

" _Which one?"_

"The criminal. Who we're helping, by the way."

" _Got it."_ The line went dead. Ciaran leapt down from a rooftop, firing off two shots from her revolver mid-air before drawing her silver tracer and slashing at the knight's back. Artorias charged too, drawing his greatsword and wielding it two-handed.

The knight kicked Lautrec away and turned to face him. His smaller blade, held in the right hand, locked with Artorias' sword.

For a moment, they engaged in a test of strength. Artorias won out when the knight was distracted by Ciaran stabbing at the chinks in his armour, although her blades did not pierce his angry deep-orange aura. But, to his credit, the knight recovered quickly, swiping behind him with the fuck-off sword. Ciaran barely dodged the blow.

"Get Lautrec out of here," Artorias growled, pressing his assault. "Don't let him out of your sight."

"Who?"

"The fucking criminal!"

"What about-"

"I'll be fine," Artorias said. "Trust me."

She seemed uncertain, but nodded. Lautrec was already halfway down the street, running away. Ciaran followed him.

The knight backed off a bit and reset, readying his weapons.

"Who are you?" Artorias asked.

The knight did not respond.

"Why are you chasing Lautrec?"

The knight's left arm seemed to tense, and the fuck-off sword (which was now Artorias' unofficial name for the thing) came arcing down towards him.

Instincts screamed at him to roll, and he did, coming up just in time to catch the smaller sword on the back of his gauntlet. He hooked his left arm around the knight's right and tried to throw him; the effort backfired somewhat when he found the knight heavier than expected. The fuck-off sword was left impaled in the ground, and the knight's left fist slammed into his shoulder, breaking the grapple.

He backed off. The knight pulled his sword from the ground.

Artorias drew his dagger.

The knight stalked towards him, but Artorias was the one to reengage, leaping high into the air and coming crashing down, greatsword held before him. The knight lifted his smaller sword towards him, but Artorias knocked it aside with his dagger. The greatsword missed; the dagger did not, catching the knight on the right hand and tearing through his gauntlet. He hit the ground behind the knight, rolling to his feet – and was promptly knocked off his feet once more by the fuck-off sword.

"Fuck off," Artorias muttered.

He pushed himself back to his feet. The knight's grip on the smaller sword seemed loose – he must have done more damage than he'd thought, even through aura.

He gritted his teeth and charged again, hurdling over a sweeping blow from the fuck-off sword and slamming into the knight bodily, knocking him back a few feet, then swiping towards his right arm with his greatsword. He hit, and the smaller sword fell from the knight's hand. Artorias pressed the advantage, sheathing his dagger again and wielding his greatsword two-handed, ducking and weaving through the slower strikes the knight tried to retaliate with, scoring blow after blow on the knight's breastplate.

The knight ended the exchange by leaping backwards and dragging his sword along the ground two handed and then flinging it upwards.

Artorias deployed his shield to block the strike.

It didn't matter.

Artorias found himself airborne. He came crashing down on the roof of the jail, landing on his back and cursing under his breath. Perhaps he was in over his head.

He pushed himself to his feet and checked his scroll. His aura was at about twenty percent – he could keep going.

And, it seemed, he'd have to. The knight leapt up onto the roof with him, small sword now sheathed at his side, and fuck-off sword somehow becoming even more fuck-off by now being on _fire._

Artorias cursed again. His shield folded back into a gauntlet, and he gripped his sword tightly in both hands. The knight did the same.

"What was in Izalith? Why Lautrec?"

The knight didn't care to answer, and marched towards him. Artorias levelled his sword, holding it back – then lunged forwards with a roar. The knight let go of his sword with his right hand and battered aside Artorias' blade with the back of his gauntlet; Artorias pushed the limb away to throw him off balance, then brought his greatsword crashing down on the fuck-off sword before the knight could ready a strike. Wild, reckless swings kept the knight's guard open, and Artorias landed multiple powerful blows on his neck and shoulders and arms.

His aura sparked and pulsed with every blow, yet nothing seemed to deter the knight.

His right arm shot out, ignoring Artorias' attempt to cut it off, and gripped around Artorias' throat. Artorias dropped his sword as the knight's grip tightened. He lifted Artorias' feet off the ground and carried him to the edge of the building, holding him over the drop. Not that it was a particularly big drop. But it would still hurt.

And that wasn't even counting all the Grimm who had gathered beneath him.

Artorias' hands scrabbled at the hand around his throat. Grimm he could deal with. Falls, he could probably also deal with. But choking?

He'd never been choked before. Well, not in this context. And now that it was happening, he found that he _really_ didn't like it.

"I do not kill without my lady's permission," the knight said. He had a surprisingly smooth voice – his diction refined. "But they have no such qualms." His head tilted downwards to indicate the Grimm.

His vision was fading. In a last ditch effort, Artorias reached behind him, grabbed his dagger, and brought it down in a stabbing motion on the knight's arm above the gauntlet, where flesh was protected only by pale green cloth.

It broke through the knight's aura.

The knight grunted in pain and let Artorias go. He gasped for air even as he fell, his left hand coming up instinctively to massage his throat. But he had the presence of mind to grab onto the edge of the building with his other hand before he could fall to his death. With no small effort, he pulled himself up, dots still dancing on the edge of his vision, and collapsed onto the roof, taking two great gulps of air before pushing himself back to his feet.

He heard a familiar shotgun blast, and a streak of lightning shot past him, slamming into the knight. Steel clashed on steel noisily. The knight was pushed off balance towards him; Artorias grabbed him by the back of the helm and brought his knee up to the knight's face. He felt something crack – hopefully, his skull, but more likely it was his helm. Gil struck him again in the back, and the knight tumbled off the roof into the horde of Grimm.

"Artorias!"

"Yeah…"

"What part of 'we're leaving' don't you understand?"

"The leaving part?"

"Don't smartmouth me. Ciaran told me you stayed behind – gods, you're an idiot, Nym."

He bent down, wincing from the pressure on his leg, and grabbed Artorias sword, pressing it into his hands. He muttered something under his breath, and the dust around his feet lit up. He straightened up, and leaned on his leg as though to test it. He nodded, satisfied. "We have to go," he said.

"Ground floor's out," said Artorias.

"No shit," growled Gil. "Can you make that jump?" he gestured over to the next roof.

"Can I?"

"I'm not in the mood for jokes."

"I can manage it."

"Good. I'm not saving your ass if you fall." Gilderoy took off, his dust-aided speed letting him clear the jump with ease. Artorias leapt after him, looking down as he crossed the street.

The knight was already gone.

/-/

They didn't stop running until they emerged at the other end of the tunnel, in Carim's quarry. Artorias had the brief satisfaction of knowing his suspicions were correct. Bullheads had been called, apparently, and they arrived at much the same time as Artorias and Gil. Ciaran and Gough were already on one – Gough holding Lautrec tightly by the arm (and again, he could swear that his arm was glowing where Gough held it). Gilderoy shoved Artorias into one of the Bullheads before following him in, collapsing against the opposite wall.

"Why did you stay?" Gilderoy asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"Is this really the time to fight?"

"Do you have a death wish? I gave you an _order_ , Artorias."

"And I disobeyed it. Oops."

"You almost died!"

"But I didn't. Isn't that what matters? I'm alive, Gil. You worry too much."

"No, I worry exactly the right amount!" he said. "You would be dead. What about that don't you understand?"

"His aura was down! I was… fine."

"He almost dropped you into a horde of Grimm! That's not _fine_ to me."

"What do you want from me? I'm _alive._ I… _probably_ would have survived anyway. Besides – I thought I was _replaceable,_ " Artorias snarled.

Gilderoy recoiled as though struck. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

"Is it because I wouldn't follow your orders?" Artorias knew he was aiming low, but he kept going. "Is it because you wanted to be General Gilderoy Ornstein, and I wouldn't play soldier? Fuck – do you even know-"

"That's not the point!"

"Isn't it?" Vaguely, he was aware of the civilians on the vessel cowering away from them. "Do you even know _how_ you're going to pull of your stupid Vacuo dream? Has it even crossed your mind that the world doesn't fall in line because _you_ tell it to?"

"You won't always have someone to save you!" Gilderoy yelled. "You're an arrogant, petulant _child_ trying to play hero, and one of these days you'll go racing off for a fight and _nobody_ follow you! Nobody will think it's worth saving your useless, shallow life! Not me, not Specialist Schnee-"

"Fuck you," Artorias spat. "That's not what happened. You weren't there."

"I can picture it. I bet you were _this_ close to getting your worthless ass kicked before she-"

"Give me a picture, then. What did it look like? Huh?"

"It's-"

"It's you charging in with an airship and some cavalry because _General Ornstein_ is Vacuo's greatest hero. That's your picture. Because you're so self-obsessed-"

"I'm self-obsessed? Look in the mirror, Nym! What have you ever done for someone else? You always think of yourself first. What was that back there? Artorias Nym, the noble wolf knight, doing such an _excellent_ job of saving the day because he thinks _nobody else can_."

"Fuck off."

"You know I'm right!"

"I wanted answers! That's all I ever wanted." He took off the ring on his right hand.

"What did you get then, huh? Who the fuck was that guy?"

"I don't know."

"Good job," Gilderoy applauded sarcastically. "I can see you _really_ outdid yourself."

"Give me your fucking picture. What happened? How do _you_ think it happened?"

"Don't change the subject."

"What do you think happened?" Artorias repeated.

Gilderoy paused. "It was just a-"

"Just a worthless insult, because you don't have _anything_ true to tell me," Artorias spat. "Give me a _fucking picture._ "

"You give _me_ a picture. Who do you think I am?"

"Who do you think _you_ are? Capable, stern, commanding, noble, Gilderoy fucking Ornstein, I bet. You're a dreamer with no foundation in reality, Gil. _How_ are you going to achieve your vision of a new Vacuo? How?"

"Arthur Quill was a scared, misguided man and you cut him down because you thought it was what _heroes_ do!" Ornstein spat. "Because you're too obsessed with your own image of 'the wolf knight'!"

"Arthur Quill was a vindictive cruel _bastard_ who walked out of my life when I was five and who I didn't see for twelve years!" Artorias roared. "Arthur Quill was a wolf faunus with silver hair and a ring _just like this_ , and he was fucking terrified, let me tell you." He was breathing heavily.

He could remember it clear as day. The glyph at his feet, propelling him forwards. The wide eyes behind a cracked mask.

"I wanted him to feel what I felt when I found out he wasn't coming back. I wanted him to feel what I felt when my mother told me what he was _really_ like. I wanted him to know that everything he had ever made and everything he had ever wanted was in ruins, and I was all that was left, and that I wanted him _dead._ Call me selfish, if you want. But I don't see myself as a hero."

Gilderoy was silent for a time. "I don't know," he said at last.

"Hmm?"

"I guess I always hoped things would… I don't know, fall into place." He laughed, but his heart wasn't in it. "I've never felt challenged by anything before, you know. Not until I met you." He sighed. "I suppose I should finally start treating Vacuo as a challenge too."

"Or you could give up," Artorias suggested.

"Artorias…" Gil growled.

Artorias laughed. "I'm kidding. Besides, we've still got a year until graduation."

"That's not the right attitude."

"I've never really had the right attitude," said Artorias. He sighed. "Thanks, Gil. I think I needed that."

"Yeah. I did too. Look – if you want to talk-"

"That's enough talking for a lifetime," said Artorias, "but thanks."

They sat in silence. The Bullhead hummed quietly.

"Ahem?" One of the civilians caught their attention with a polite cough.

"Yes?" Gilderoy asked.

"Um, this might be a bad time, but, ah, he's sitting on my son's teddy bear," she said, pointing at Artorias. Her son - or, at least, he assumed it was her son - sat in her lap, watching them with wide eyes.

"Oh. Shit. Sorry."

"And if you could keep the swearing to a minimum…?"

"My bad."


	18. Breach

Team RWBY were at the Bullheads early the next morning, despite their late-night mission. They had another busy day ahead of them. First, Yarrow – at long last. Then, in the afternoon, they were to meet Vengarl again for a debriefing with the council.

Not that she was particularly excited on that count. But, as Vengarl informed them – not every moment of their careers would be spent chasing down Grimm. Private security was a common task, though it wouldn't always be for one of the kingdoms' governments. And, in such situations, issuing a report was important.

Allegedly.

Admittedly, Vengarl had seemed just as unenthusiastic about the idea of a debriefing as Ruby. But he'd still recognised the necessity, and asked them to do the same.

"Hold up," said Yang, yawning, "it's JNPR." The other team was over at another landing pad, already loading onto their Bullhead. Given that Yarrow wasn't an official mission, Team RWBY would have to wait for one of the scheduled round trips between Beacon and Vale.

Yang cleared her throat with a cough. "Wow, what a fantastic,  _world saving_  mission we went on last night – right girls?"

Even from the other landing pad, Ruby heard Nora's cry of despair.

"That seems unnecessary," said Blake.

"Eh, maybe. She'll get over it."

"Speaking of world-saving," said Weiss, "how do you think Neptune's team is doing?"

"Oh,  _Neptune's_  team?" Yang leered. "Not Team SSSN? Not Sun's team? Not… those other guys' team? Nep-"

Weiss covered Yang's mouth with a hand. "I get it."

"They're probably fine," said Ruby. "I mean, they had a plan, right? I bet-"

She paused. What was that whirring sound? Like a horn, high pitched, echoing from Vale.

It was the alarm.

The Grimm assault alarm.

Blake sighed. "Yarrow's gonna have to wait again."

A short answer from Yang. "Yup."

"There's space on our Bullhead!" Jaune called over to them, leaning out the back of the ship. "Come on!"

Any weariness they'd felt before left them. They had a job to do.

/-/

Vengarl took his picture off the wall and wrapped it in cloth before laying it gently in his pack. Checkout was at ten. Then he had to go to Beacon to speak to Ozpin, then the debriefing in the afternoon – then it was back to the road. He made his way over to the little hotel kitchen, wherein bacon was sizzling in a pan. It was just about done, and it joined the eggs and toast on his plate. He made his way over to the table, now clear of maps and plans, and sat down to eat.

There was a little bundle of fur staring up at him, tongue lolling.

"No - dog, you've already eaten." He didn't know the dog's name, so he'd taken to simply calling it 'dog'. Monosyllabic. Easy to remember. And besides, Miss Rose would likely call him the moment she remembered – or, failing that, he'd return the dog while he was at Beacon.

Dog jumped up into his lap.

"Fine." He cut a little bit of bacon off and held it in front of Dog's face. Dog wolfed it down, let out a happy little yap, then slid back down to the floor to lay down by Vengarl's feet.

"Good boy."

Just as he was raising a fork loaded with egg and toast to his mouth, an explosion rocked Vale.

Then another.

Then the alarm sounded.

He sighed, put his cutlery down, and grabbed his weapons and his pack. "Miss Rose said you had your aura unlocked," he said.

The corgi barked once.

"I won't be back before checkout. I can't leave you here."

The corgi seemed to understand, for it stood and made its way over to the door, casting one longing look back at the bacon.

"I can't believe this," Vengarl muttered, moving back to the plate to grab two rashers of bacon, giving one to Dog and eating one himself before heading once more to the door. "Don't leave my side – you hear me?"

/-/

Scarlet, picking himself up, came to the conclusion that there were a lot of Grimm.

That was an understatement. There were… oodles of Grimm. A gaggle of Grimm? A flock? Maybe if he'd paid more attention to Port, he'd know the collective noun for Grimm.

Who was he kidding? Port wouldn't have ever covered that.

He pulled himself to his feet, grabbing his pistol where it had fallen next to him. Sun lay not too far off, blood oozing from a cut on his forehead. Scarlet made his way over to him, checking for a pulse. He was alive, at least. He let out a sigh of relief and stood.

This was bad.

This was  _really_  bad.

Sage and Neptune were nowhere to be found. As much as he hated to say it, he was glad that the Grimm were chasing civilians instead of killing the weakened Hunters. It was a small mercy.

"Scarlet? Sun?"

"Sage!" The green-haired boy came staggering out of the wreckage of the train, an unmoving Neptune held in his arms bridal style. "Move!"

They'd caught the attention of a pack of Beowolves. Scarlet raised his gun and used the grappling line to trip the Alpha, then fired off a precise shot at its temple, killing it quickly and efficiently. The pack continued to charge. Sage knelt, placing Neptune gently on the ground, then drew his sword.

A corgi tore through a Beowolf's throat.

"What…?"

A King Taijitu, screaming bloody murder, came tearing out of the wreckage of the train behind Sage and Neptune. He wanted to run to them, to help them – but he couldn't leave Sun alone.

"Get the wounded away!" A tall figure holding two heavy swords charged past Scarlet. "Heel! I said stay close. Get the wounded away! Here! Here!" He waved his swords towards the King Taijitu and yelled at it, drawing its attention. The corgi, meanwhile, was keeping the Beowolves at bay.

That wasn't a sight Scarlet had ever thought he'd see.

/-/

"Let's go, team!" called Ruby, almost the very moment she hit the ground. Honestly – was Jaune the only one who felt airsick?

Not that it ever took too long for him to recover once his feet were on solid ground. But there were still those horribly nauseating moments to deal with.

Either way, Team RWBY charged off first, Ren trailing close behind. Pyrrha waited for a second, casting a look in his direction before following. Nora had leapt from the Bullhead long before them, whooping as she went, followed by numerous explosions. Jaune almost felt sorry for any Grimm in her path.

Almost.

"Okay," he said, jogging after his team. "Who's first?"

There was a thud behind him, like footsteps.

Very heavy footsteps.

He turned, and an Ursa roared in his face.

"Totally fine…" he muttered.

The Ursa bit at him; he bashed its face with his shield, then swung at its torso with its sword. He was able to land a few hits – the Ursa didn't seem to care, swinging wildly. The first, he evaded by scooting backwards. His shield switched into a sheath, and he used it to send another paw slanting away from his face, pushing into its guard. There was a brief pause while he chambered a blow, then the heavy sheath came up to slam into the Ursa's jaw, sending it staggering backwards, and Jaune let loose with his blade again, scoring blow after blow, roaring savagely.

The Ursa seemed stunned.

As it turned out, it was just dead. Not stunned. Just dead.

That was a victory, right?

Jaune pumped his fist into the air and dove into the melee. He could do this.

More and more students were arriving. Across the square, he could see Team RWBY guarding Team SSSN's back. Team CRDL he found by his side, and he felt a strange surge of camaraderie and pride towards them. In the distance, he swore he could see a man fighting with nothing more than a – was that a handkerchief? Well, to be fair, he had a shield too – emblazoned with the image of a sun – but a  _handkerchief_?

Was it also a gun?

No, it was embedded with dust. That made a bit more sense.

Anywho – and that he could consider thinking 'anywho' in the middle of a fight was a testament to how far he'd come since his arrival at Beacon – things were starting to look not quite so bad. Sure, Grimm were still pouring out of the hole in the ground at an alarming rate, but for the most part they were successfully keeping them contained in the square. "So," he said, fighting his way towards Pyrrha, "I thought we should talk-"

"Now? Really?"

"-about what you said and what I didn't say and about where we're at." He suppressed a scream as a Boarbatusk slammed into him from behind – though it somehow worked in his favour, rocketing him straight through a Beowolf's guard. He dispatched the creature summarily. Pyrrha shot the Boarbatusk once, twice – it unrolled on the third shot, exposing vulnerable flesh, and Pyrrha ended its life.

"I appreciate it, Jaune, but I think this probably isn't the best time."

"I don't know what I want," said Jaune honestly. "I know that I like you as a friend and that I might like you as more but I don't really know for sure and I just want things to go back to the way they were and I feel horrible about not really having a proper answer but I just thought I should lay that all on the table."

"Oh, don't feel horrible!" She caught her shield as it returned from slamming a Creep in the face, then turned to him. "I'm sorry!"

"No – no, no, don't be sorry, this is my indecision and I take full responsibility," said Jaune. "I just hope – look, I want you to know where I'm at with this whole… thing, because I trust you and I care about you and I respect you too much to just leave you in the dark. We're cool, right?"

He didn't miss how her eyes lingered on him. "Jaune, no matter where we end up, I'm glad that you're in my life." Without even looking away from him, her sword transformed into a javelin, and she threw it over Jaune's shoulder.

"So am I, Pyr. Thanks." He was mid-swing when a thought occurred to him. "I mean, I am also glad that you're in my life, not that I'm glad that I'm in yours. I mean, I'm glad about that too, but what I meant was – ah, you get it."

A great whooshing sound reached his ears, and a shadow fell over the battlefield. Jaune paused – holding a Beowolf's paw at bay on his shield – and looked up. His jaw dropped.

Airships. Big airships. With guns.

_Why does everything need a gun?_

Not that he was complaining when they opened fire. The pressure on his shield lessened as the Beowolf was torn apart by the bullets – then it promptly returned stronger as the Beowolf fell on him.

"Great," Jaune muttered, pushing it off of him. Pyrrha offered him a hand, laughing pleasantly.

/-/

"Oh, I can't  _believe_  that you caught me, you've really taught me the error of my ways," the criminal droned.

"Zwei!"

Vengarl was just about bowled over in the wake of Ruby's semblance as she tore past him, taking up the little corgi in her arms. Huh. Zwei. Well, it was still easy to remember.

"Oh, he's such a  _good boy_  isn't he? Did you see him-"

"Yes," said Vengarl. "I saw him." Despite himself, he gave Zwei a little pat on the head. "We're still to meet with-"

"We know, Gramps," said Yang. "Zwei wasn't too much trouble, was he?"

Zwei gave one little bark.

"Could he stay with you forever?" asked Blake.

"He was alright," said Vengarl. His eyes lingered on the boy with Crocea Mors for a moment before his gaze reached Glynda. "Excuse me," he said, leaving Team RWBY with Zwei.

"Glynda!" he called.

"Vengarl," she greeted warmly. He supposed it was the welcoming tone to her voice that drew strange looks from the students. She'd always had a reputation for being formal and distant. "Ozpin mentioned you were in town."

"I'm sure he did," muttered Vengarl. "How is Beacon?"

Glynda let out a long sigh. "The amount of paperwork this will incur – and Ozpin won't do a page of it, I assure you."

Vengarl laughed heartily. "Of course not."

"I'd love to catch up, but I really must get back to Beacon," said Glynda, turning towards one of the Bullheads.

"I had a question: the blond boy over there. He is an Arc, no?"

"An Arc? I suppose. Though I wasn't aware that the Arcs were a particularly notable family. Jaune Arc. He's improved greatly since arriving at Beacon, but he's got a long way to go," said Glynda. "Was there anything else?"

"No. Thank you, Glynda."

She nodded her response. The Bullhead departed.

 _He looks like Jaune._  That was what the Schnee girl had said, wasn't it?

Well – he'd met Joseph's children. It wasn't unreasonable to assume that they'd had children of their own. Although, thinking about it – that probably wasn't enough generations. Great-grandchild? Great-great-grandchild? Maybe even  _great-great-great-grandchild?_

Sometimes he forgot how old he was.

He certainly didn't  _feel_  that old. Aura was truly a wonderful thing.

Regardless of how many generations separated them, the boy showed promise, though he certainly had a long way to go. Maybe he'd offer the kid training, for old time's sake.

Bah. He was getting sentimental.

He followed Jaune's team onto a Bullhead – the same Bullhead, as it happened, as Team RWBY.

"Gramps is coming to Beacon!" cheered Yang. "Hey, can you have an old-age-off with Port?"

"Yang, please respect your elders," Weiss said.

"I mean,  _I'd_  watch it. Sure, I might fall asleep, but..."

"Oh my god, Yang, please stop," said Ruby.

"Peter still works at Beacon?"

"Professor Port is our Grimm studies teacher," explained the red-haired girl next to Jaune. "And he is…"

"Rarely educational?" Vengarl provided.

"He knows our struggle," said the short ginger girl. "He  _understands_!"

Weiss cleared her throat. "This is Vengarl," she introduced him. "We shadowed him for our mission."

"Ooh, you must be super cool!" said the ginger, who he was quickly gathering to be quite excitable. "They said they did some serious  _world-saving_  last night. Without  _us!_ "

Vengarl arched an eyebrow at Team RWBY – more specifically, Ruby.

Ruby pointed at Yang.

Yang shrugged apologetically. "It was just-"

"It was suitably world-saving," Vengarl said tersely. Yang gave him wink as the ginger girl began to cry, though her woeful outburst was cut short by an exclamation about pancakes.

Truly Beacon's finest.

"We're Team Juniper," said the Arc boy. "I'm Jaune Arc. Short, sweet, rolls off the-"

"This is P-money, Ren and her royal highness the queen," Yang said, cutting off Jaune and pointing to them one by one.

"Their real names?" Vengarl prompted.

"Ren is my real name," said Ren, though he didn't seem offended. "This is Nora Valkyrie."

"Pancakes!"

"Pyrrha Nikos, sir," said the girl, offering a little wave.

"Don't call me sir," he said automatically. Honestly – at this rate, he'd have to make a sign to tell people not to call him 'sir'. Although where he'd display it, he wasn't sure – perhaps taped to his chest?

No. That was ridiculous.

"He's like that," whispered Ruby.

So. Jaune Arc.

Vengarl had seen him during the battle. He'd been determined – a little nervous, perhaps, but determined. And he had a curious, creative fighting style – unrefined, but with potential. His team were rather interesting, especially Nora Valkyrie, but then, what team  _didn't_  have its quirks?

He resolved to offer the kid some training. That would involve staying at Beacon for a while – although, he supposed, he  _could_ rent another room in Vale, he'd rather not deal with that kind of commute.

And staying at Beacon would involve asking Ozpin.

If Ozpin were the spiteful type, he'd have a field day with this. As it was, Vengarl knew the old man would sip at his coffee and smile knowingly, but never gloat overtly.

"Might I speak with you in private when we land at Beacon, Mr Arc?"

"Uh… me?"

"Is there another Arc here I'm unaware of?"

"No – or at least, I don't know either. Uh, sure. I guess?"

The boy lacked confidence – or was perhaps just confused. Fair enough. They'd only just met.

"Wait," said Ruby, her brow furrowed. "Do you two know each other?"

"I think you'll find that the point of a private conversation is for things to remain private, Miss Rose," said Vengarl. "Mr Arc is free to divulge any details he sees fit afterwards."

Vengarl didn't miss the silent signal Ruby sent Jaune's way. Of  _course_  she'd badger him about it.

/-/

Ozpin sipped at his coffee, looking out his office window. Below, Bullheads were landing, returning from Vale. Students poured out, most looking optimistic and cheerful about their efforts in the city.

But there was another fleet there – not Atlas'. Bullheads coming in from the east.

" _Ozpin? Ozpin!"_  He sighed and turned back to his desk.

"Yes, Councilman?"

" _You've left us with no choice. The Vytal Festival Tournament cannot be broadcast, let alone held, if we are unable to ensure the safety of the citizens."_

He sipped at his coffee. Silence was a valid response.

" _Therefore, we have reached out to the Atlas council, and together have decided that the best option is to appoint General Ironwood as head of security for the event."_

" _Thank you, Councilman."_  Ironwood's image grew larger on the projected screen.  _"Our kingdom is happy to lend as many troops as it takes to ensure that this event runs as smoothly and safely as possible."_

" _And we thank you, General."_

"Will that be all?" Ozpin prompted.

" _For now. But after this festival comes to a close, we are going to have a serious discussion regarding your position at Beacon Academy. General Ironwood's reports of these last few weeks have left us somewhat… concerned. I'm sure you understand."_  The councilman ended the call, leaving Ironwood's face alone on the screen.

" _This is the right move, Ozpin. I promise. I will keep our people safe, you have to trust me."_

Then even that disappeared.

He took a long drink from his mug. Ironwood was going behind his back, then. Not necessarily a bad thing – independence could lead to results, after all, but here he'd stepped on Ozpin's toes.

Yet Ozpin couldn't bring himself to blame the man. Ozpin could trust Ironwood to do what he thought was right. That their opinions on the matter differed was certainly becoming an issue. Perhaps if James knew the full scope – knew  _exactly_  what was at stake…

No. Such information would not change the General's attitude. Best to keep it in a close circle. Qrow. Glynda. June. Artorias, if June had her way.

And perhaps June was right. He could only manipulate James to a certain extent. He could ask favours, nudge in the right direction – but James would always do as he saw fit. But if Artorias knew everything –  _truly_  knew everything – Ozpin could give  _orders_. Until Qrow returned, he'd need an ally like that. He could acknowledge that independence had its benefits, but command would be just as vital in the days to come.

The light for the elevator blinked on his desk. "Come in," he said.

And speak of the devil…

Artorias entered the room, his hand gripped on the shoulder of a man with a gaunt face. "Morning, Professor," he said cheerily.

"It's past noon," said Ozpin.

"Good afternoon, then. Whatever."

"I was under the impression that you left for your mission yesterday," Ozpin said.

"The mission was cut short," said Artorias, his face turning serious. "Grimm invasion. Talk at the Bullheads says that there was something similar here, if a little less catastrophic."

"Unfortunately."

"Tell me about it," Artorias said, rolling his eyes.

Ozpin's attention shifted to the man in Artorias' grip. "And this is?"

"I was lead to believe there'd be one General James Ironwood here," said the man. Artorias shook him roughly.

"This is Lautrec," he said. Ozpin steepled his fingers.

"I see."

"He killed Anastacia."

Lautrec flinched.

"I see."

"And he's being hunted down by that lovely fellow in black armour."

"Which is why your mission was cut short?"

"Which is why our mission was cut short."

Lautrec remained silent.

Artorias sighed. "He wants a guarantee of protection."

"You're not in any position to be making demands," Ozpin pointed out. "Did you not kill Anastacia?"

"Would you really let a prisoner be murdered in a cell?" Lautrec asked.

"No," Ozpin admitted. "Do you know anything about your assailant?"

"He called himself the Fume Knight," Lautrec said. "I got him monologuing when he found me a few villages back."

"Villages? Plural?" He'd been aware of increased Grimm activity, of multiple settlements… disappearing. Was this man the reason?

And the Fume Knight… it sounded familiar, though he couldn't place it.

"There were a couple after Izalith, apparently," Artorias said, grimacing. "But wait! There's more." He grabbed Lautrec's wrist and  _squeezed_ -

Something glowed beneath the skin.

It was like a second aura, in fact – but manifesting strangely, unnaturally. He couldn't be sure. It was certainly abnormal, but then, if he didn't know what it was, there was a slim chance of anybody knowing.

But a hunch was better than nothing.

"Interesting," he said. "Did the Fume Knight say anything else?"

Lautrec shrugged. "He told me I'm a terrible human being – can't argue with that – and that his Queen would be delighted to meet me. Needless to say, I didn't feel the same," he said, his voice dry and clipped.

Ozpin frowned. His Queen. There was no doubt in his mind who  _that_  was. He dialled in Ironwood's number. "Thank you for your assistance, Lautrec," Ozpin said.

"I request a comfy cell. Decent food, too. Tit for tat," he drawled.

" _Professor Ozpin. I wasn't expecting to hear from you again so soon."_ James' face appeared once more, projected from the desk.

"Mr Nym has a prisoner for you to take off his hands."

"No need to say it like that," muttered Lautrec.

"This is Lautrec," Ozpin said.

"Comfy cell," Lautrec reminded him.

" _I'm afraid that none of our cells are designed with comfort in mind,"_  James said.  _"Is it strictly necessary that he be a prisoner?"_

"He killed Anastacia," Artorias chipped in. "You know. Cold-blooded murderer and all that."

"Speaking of things that aren't strictly necessary…" Lautrec muttered, shooting a dark look Artorias' way.

"Regardless of his crimes, Lautrec is being hunted by the man who attacked Izalith," Ozpin said.

James understood his meaning; a cell would be just as much for Lautrec's protection as anybody else's.  _"I'll send some of my men to escort him."_

"He's been cooperative so far."

" _Then we'll treat him with… a measure of respect."_

" _Thank_  you," Lautrec said.

" _Will that be all, Ozpin?"_

"Your aura expert – what was his name?"

" _Doctor Polendina."_ James' eyes narrowed.

"I suggest you send for him."

" _We can speak more on that later,"_  said Ironwood.  _"Thank you, Ozpin – Mr Nym."_

There was awkward silence for a time. Artorias began to whistle, his arm still held firmly on Lautrec's shoulder. The Atlesian soldiers were let in, and they oh-so officially proclaimed that they were there to bring Lautrec to General Ironwood.

"Thank you," Ozpin said, dismissing them. Lautrec and the soldiers both departed.

"Right – now that's done-"

"Sit."

Artorias sat.

Ozpin sipped at his coffee.

Loose lips sink ships. Artorias was a risk.

But he was also capable, and Ozpin doubted he'd purposefully betray them. June trusted him as much, at least. Though, like Ironwood, there was always the possibility that their ideologies would clash.

No. His history spoke for itself. His ideals conflicted with Gilderoy's regularly - but they still worked together, and did a good job of it. Stubborn, perhaps, but willing to cooperate in the face of necessity. And what was respect for authority, anyway? Qrow certainly had little, but he respected Ozpin. If Ozpin could invoke Artorias' respect for June…

Ironwood likely wouldn't approve, but then, it wasn't Ironwood's decision to make. He didn't need to know. This went above Ironwood's pay grade.

"What is your favourite fairy tale?" Ozpin asked.

"And if that isn't a tangent…"

"Quite." Ozpin raised his coffee mug – it was empty. He reached for the pot. "Coffee?"

"No thanks," said Artorias. "Okay, so – fairy tales? Really?"

"Stories from your childhood. Myths, legends, folklore. Surely you remember some of them."

"Yeah, but  _why?_ "

"Indulge me."

Artorias sighed. "Well – there's  _The Lion, the Witch, and the Painting_ …"

Ozpin nodded. It had been warped over the centuries – as most had been, but that was one worth talking about. But June wanted him in the know – _really_  in the know. It would not suffice, not as a starting point.

"There's  _The Father of Giants…_ "

Too recent – though accurate, it was of little importance.

"How about  _The Legend of the Lords?_ " Ozpin prompted.

"Careful, sir. Calling that a fairy tale could be considered blasphemy."

"Do you consider it blasphemous?"

"No. But some people blow simple stories out of proportion," Artorias shrugged.  _Oh, the irony…_  "Just saying."

"Would you mind recounting it for me?" Ozpin asked.

Artorias' eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Ozpin sipped at his coffee – a valid response, in his book.

"Fine. Do you want the once-upon-a-time classic start, or just… straight into it?"

"Your choice," Ozpin said, smiling a little.

Artorias closed his eyes. Ozpin could see the story gathering in his mind, rolling to his tongue – and then he began. "Before there was life, the world was unformed, shrouded by fog. It was a land of grey crags, of towering stone trees, and of the creatures of Grimm."

Not entirely inaccurate. There had certainly been a lot of Grimm.

"But then there was fire, and with fire came disparity. Heat and cold. Life and death. Light and dark. And from the dark, they came, and found the souls of Lords within the flame." Whether that part was fact or fancy, not even Ozpin could say for sure. Certainly, their souls were… different. But it was not souls they found at the dawn of time. Perhaps their souls had been changed by the encounter. Perhaps they'd been born that way.

Given June's history, however, this was a far easier starting point than a tale of brothers and relics.

"There was the First Immortal-"

"The First  _of_  the Immortals," Ozpin interrupted.

"Does it matter?"

"That's how it was told when I was young," Ozpin said. "I suppose stories change."

"No, but – I mean, both names kind of imply there are more than one immortal, you know? Doesn't play any part in the story, though."

Ozpin shrugged and sipped at his coffee. Artorias took it as an indication to forget it and to continue. "There was the First Immortal – or the First of the Immortals, take your pick. There was the Wizard, Lord of Magic. And there was the King, Lord of Sunlight."

"With the strength of Lords, they challenged the Grimm. The King's mighty bolts tore apart their bone armour. The Wizard weaved mighty storms, clearing the fog and crumbling the stone trees. And the Immortal commanded the Grimm to turn on one another, bringing chaos to their horde. They drove the Grimm back, and atop the strength of their souls they forged the kingdoms."

"The King's people travelled west, and there made their home in Vacuo under the sun. The Immortal and the Wizard together built Vale. And a fourth soul was found in the east and claimed by none, shared by all those who travelled there in search of sanctuary – and thus began Mistral. Boring story, really."

Ozpin blinked, half-expecting the hallucination of the man with ashen hair to appear and finish the story. But no. That was all humanity remembered.

And what a mess Mantle had been.

"Thank you, Mr Nym. Would-"

The light for the elevator blinked, and Ozpin paused.

"Excuse me – come in."

The doors opened.

Vengarl stood there, looking stern as ever. Ozpin blinked, and the blonde hallucination appeared in the elevator next to the old man, wearing a broad smile on her face. "Good luck,  _my lord_ ," she mocked.

"We will continue this later, Artorias," said Ozpin.

"Sir?"

"Thank you for your time. And thank you for bringing the events of your mission to my attention. I'd strongly advise discretion in regards to our conversation."

Artorias seemed to recognise the dismissal, and stepped past Vengarl into the elevator, passing straight through the woman. "Later, then," he said. He pushed a button, and the doors closed.

Ozpin and Vengarl stared each other down. It had been almost twenty years since Ozpin had seen the man. He still carried himself the same way, with his shoulders squared and his back straight. Much like Ironwood, in fact, though they couldn't have come from more differing backgrounds.

"Oz," Vengarl said at last. "You're looking young."

"I can't say the same for you, I'm afraid. Have a seat."

Vengarl obliged.

"Coffee?"

"Please." Ozpin poured the man a mug. It felt surreal. "I saw the little debacle in Vale," Vengarl said.

"I hardly expected otherwise."

"You knew I was in town, then?"

"Of course." No use lying to him.

"I was assigned a team of first-years," said Vengarl. "Your doing?"

"On the contrary – I had no interest in contacting you," Ozpin said truthfully. "Nor to have my students come into contact with you. Not unless you reached out to me first."

Vengarl searched his face, his eyes narrowed. At last, he reclined in his seat and sipped at his coffee. "Miss Rose has silver eyes," he said. "I find that a difficult coincidence to swallow."

"You had Team RWBY?"

"That I did. She's Summer's, isn't she? And Miss Xiao Long is Taiyang's."

"They have a… complicated family. Ruby and Yang are half-sisters."

Ozpin watched the gears turn in Vengarl's mind. It took about five seconds for him to connect the dots. "Raven? I saw her - what, five years ago? She never mentioned Yang. I honestly can't imagine her as a mother."

Ozpin sipped at his drink.

"I see." Vengarl, at least, appreciated the value of Ozpin's silence in a conversation. "And Qrow?"

"No children – not that I know of, at least."

"Would you be one to know?" Ozpin nodded. Vengarl sighed. "It seems I'm a little out of the loop, then. Is he... working for you?"

Ozpin nodded.

"Interesting." Vengarl traced a finger around the rim of his mug. "The Arc boy. Jaune."

Small-talk, it seemed, was over. "Yes?"

"I've offered him personal training – if you'll allow me to stay at Beacon."

Truthfully, he'd be glad to have Vengarl close at hand again, though like Ironwood he would only follow orders if he deemed them just. But Vengarl's judgement was a little less clouded, his interests less embroiled with politics, his knowledge a little broader, his decisions more likely to align with Ozpin's own. But at the same time…

Vengarl didn't trust him. Not fully, at least. And Ozpin knew that.

But first – a long drink of well-deserved coffee.

"We're in a delicate situation," Ozpin said, placing his mug back down on the desk.

"The painting. You've heard, then?"

Ozpin arched an eyebrow.

"That's why I came here," said Vengarl. "But I thought you'd have at least the bare details. Little happens in this city without your knowing it."

"Within this school," Ozpin corrected, though to be honest Vengarl wasn't entirely wrong. "I'm aware of a disturbance in the upper-class district late last night. That was you, then? Details are scarce, and a little strange."

"Strange is one way of putting it," Vengarl said. He launched into a detailed description – of a tall, spindly creature that seemed not quite human, but intelligent enough to use a sword (a flaming one, no less). A creature who could obscure their vision (which he posited as a possible semblance) and travel through portals not unlike Raven's.

"Strange indeed," Ozpin mused. The description didn't match anything or anyone he knew of, unless Raven herself had grown a few feet and covered her sword in burn dust.

He was struck by the image of Raven standing on Qrow's shoulders, the two of them wearing an oversized trenchcoat to hide Qrow. He hid a smile. "You said it was able to almost blind you all. Did it not take that opportunity to pursue the painting?"

Vengarl's eyes narrowed. "No. Do you think – silver eyes? Was Miss Rose the target?"

"It's possible," Ozpin mused. "But you said she went ahead."

A frown formed on Vengarl's face. "It may have been a diversion. The cargo made it to the museum safely, but… is it possible someone slipped into the painting further along the route, while we were distracted?"

"No," Ozpin said. "The key is in my possession."

Vengarl sipped at his coffee.

"Don't pursue such questions further," Ozpin warned. "I will not answer them." It was still possible that Vengarl was right – there were two who would have no need of a key, and only one was accounted for. But it was a very low chance indeed.

Perhaps… Perhaps Ozpin would look for himself. Soon. Better safe than sorry.

Vengarl frowned, but nodded.

Ozpin sighed. "If you're going to stay in Beacon, I need to know where you stand on a certain issue."

"Go on."

"The Fall Maiden was attacked. Her power was somehow split, but one of my agents reached her before it could be stolen entirely," Ozpin explained. "She's in a coma, and there is little hope of her recovering. Would you be willing to follow my orders to protect her?"

"You're not telling me everything," Vengarl accused.

"Of course not," Ozpin said.

"Whatever you're leaving out, I want to know. I won't approve, will I?"

"That's a pessimistic conclusion to reach," Ozpin frowned.

"He's right though," said the blonde woman, stepping through the  _closed_  elevator door into the office. "He wouldn't like it."

"It's a fair guess," Vengarl scowled. "I will not be complicit in this."

"Do you trust me when I tell you that I have no other choice?"

Vengarl leaned forwards, searching his eyes. "I want to," he said. He sighed, and sipped at his coffee. "I think I'll need something stronger than this."

Ozpin waited.

"Lucatiel was my best friend, Oz," he said. For the first time in his long life, he looked old – truly old, his body and voice both frail, his eyes tired. His hand shook, and he took another large gulp of coffee before putting it down, handling it as though it was too heavy for him to hold any longer. "The only solace I ever took was that it was  _necessary_. _"_  He closed his eyes, collecting his thoughts. "You kept the truth from me for all those years."

"If it makes you feel any better," Ozpin said, catching the blonde hallucination's eye, "she haunts me to this very day." There was nothing else he could really say. What – that she would have lost her mind eventually anyway? That was hardly consolation.

Lucatiel – his memory of her, anyway – was silent. He gathered his thoughts, and his hand came to rest on his cane, palming the pearl set in its handle.

"Hmph. I would hope she would." Vengarl sighed, seeming to collect himself, and again he was the stern old man who defied his age with every breath. "You're keeping the Fall Maiden… in the Vault?"

Ozpin nodded.

Vengarl snorted. "Figures. I can't promise that I will defend her," he said, "not without further information. But I still consider Beacon a home. I will protect it. I can promise you that."

Those were acceptable terms. "Welcome back to Beacon, Professor Sand."

"I won't be taking any classes," he said, an air of finality about him.

"Well – if Team RWBY finds out you're training Jaune, and I assure you they will, they'll be clamouring for your tutelage – not to mention Miss Valkyrie. At that point you may as well turn it into a full class."

"I will do no such thing," he said.

"Train Team RWBY? Or start a new class?"

Vengarl paused, mulling it over. "I would not be strictly against the first idea, though I'd rather avoid it. I'm vehemently opposed to teaching an entire class again, however."

Ozpin waved it off. "How long do you intend to stay?"

"A week. Maybe more. I'd like to be gone before the tournament begins, but… I'll see how it goes." Ozpin nodded – Vengarl had never liked the Vytal Festival.

"I'll have your old room organized for you."

Vengarl stood, holding out a hand to shake. "I still consider you a friend," he said gruffly, "for better or for worse."

"One would hope for the better," Ozpin said.

They shook hands. Vengarl departed.

"That went better than expected," Lucatiel said.

"It's a gambit," Ozpin muttered. "But his training will be good for them." On the off-chance that Team RWBY wouldn't bug Vengarl on their own, Ozpin would hint that they should. Perhaps even the rest of JNPR. If Pyrrha were to become the new maiden, as he hoped, she would need a strong team around her. As would Ruby. Vengarl's sentiments towards Atlas might cause the Heiress to question her loyalty to her father, though he knew that the old man was a consummate professional and likely wouldn't voice them. But on the off chance he did, it could only be a good thing.

"If he becomes close with them, he would be loathe to see them torn apart."

"That may work in our favour." He winced as he remembered that she wasn't actually there; 'our', perhaps, wasn't the proper term.

She smirked. "And it may work against you."

"Hence the gambit. It's possible that there will  _be_  no side effects to Ironwood's… machine." Was that what had happened to Lautrec? Something akin to the aura transfer device? If so – aside from some less than subtle cosmetic changes, he seemed sane enough.

A bit obnoxious, though. But that was probably just his personality.

She shrugged. "Souls are delicate things."

Ozpin nodded and sipped at his coffee. "This is good, though," he said. "Grudging or otherwise, he is an ally. And I'm in desperate need of allies."

"Will you still recruit Artorias?"

Ozpin paused. "He will have his suspicions now, surely. But Vengarl would not approve of recruiting a student, and I need his favour right now."

"He doesn't need to know."

"Are you suggesting he wouldn't guess on his own?" Ozpin asked, raising an eyebrow. Lucatiel smiled and shook her head.

"It's Gilderoy you should be concerned with anyway," Lucatiel said.

"That's a more difficult guess to make. Vengarl doesn't know. He can't."

"Not even  _you_  know for sure. But Vengarl thinks you do." And that could prove very,  _very_  dangerous, should Vengarl turn against him, even if June's belief was misplaced. "Not that it's any of his business."

"It shouldn't be mine either, nor June's."

"She's aligned herself too closely with her past life." A man's voice. Ozpin looked up. The ashen-haired hallucination stood next to Lucatiel, his arms crossed.

"And pushing her too far the other way would be even worse," Lucatiel argued.

The two of them broke out into an argument. Ozpin looked down, sighing. It probably wasn't a good sign that his imagination was fighting with itself. In the background, they'd started shouting at each other.

Would they come to blows? Could that even happen? Ozpin wasn't sure. And what would happen if one of them won? It'd be an interesting experiment to try.

No. He was playing games with his own sanity now. That was  _definitely_  not a good thing.

Calmly, he stood, made his way towards the elevator, and descended, leaving his imagination behind to argue in his office.

/-/

There was a knock at the door.

Morgan Nym looked away from the news – still covering the aftermath of what they were calling 'The Breach'. "Just a moment," she called, making her way towards the door.

She opened it.

Artorias stood in the doorway.

"Hi Mum," he said. A hand came up to scratch at the stubble on his chin. "I would've brought flowers, but everything's closed. You know, with the terrorist attack and stuff." He sighed. "I need to apologise. For a few things."

A smile spread on her face, and she pulled him into an embrace.

/-/

"Why is it  _always_  a warehouse?" Mercury droned. "I mean really - first Roman, then that Vordt guy – who's this one?"

"We met with Adam on a roof," Emerald reminded him.

"That's an even stupider place to meet. I mean,  _anyone_  could see him up there. Anyone could see  _us_  up there with him. Isn't this supposed to be discrete?"

"It's not your place to ask why," Cinder said.

"I really feel like this is a valid question," Mercury said.

"She said shut up, Mercury," Emerald said. "I guess it's hard for you to read subtext if you can't read in the first place."

"A real burn, that was," Mercury drawled.

The sun was about to set when they reached the warehouse. Clouds were gathering overhead. Maybe it would rain.

Cinder didn't like rain.

"Who are we meeting?" Emerald asked.

"An associate," Cinder said.

"An associate?"

"Someone she works with."

"I know what associate means, Mercury!" she hissed. "But I thought it'd just be us from here on out. Is this another favour?"

"Perhaps," Cinder said. "He didn't say what it was he wanted. Emerald – if he attacks us, hide our retreat."

"Couldn't we just kill him?" Mercury asked.

"You'll do no such thing," Cinder said, her voice lowering. "He'd be a fool to try anything – but then, he's a fool as it is."

On that pleasant note, she opened the door and stepped inside, her heels clacking on the concrete. The warehouse was dark, lit only by the fading sunlight filtering in through a skylight. In the pale circle it illuminated, impaled in the floor, was a massive sword, the blade thick and rough as though hewn from stone.

"You're earlier than expected."

"We were already away from the school. But security is heightened now – I trust we won't have to meet too often?"

A man stepped into the circle of light, wearing ill-fitting civilian clothes. He was pale, unnaturally so, pasty and sickly as though he skin was stretched thin over his body. A pair of yellow eyes flickered over Cinder's shoulder to her companions. "Hopefully not," he said, his gaze returning to Cinder.

"Has your armour grown too heavy for you, Raime?" Cinder teased. "Don't tell me you're getting old."

He looked down and away. "I  _am_  old."

"Old enough to forget your duties? I believe you were tasked with finding the Summer Maiden."

"A task that has become complicated, of late. There's a third party. He stole her soul."

"He?" Cinder raised an eyebrow and stepped closer. "Don't make excuses. A man could never-"

"Not her powers – her soul," Raime snapped. "She's under his protection. Or in his captivity." Raime shrugged. "It makes little difference."

Cinder pursed her lips. On one hand, it seemed outlandish. But at the same time, had she not achieved things just as strange? "Are you sure?" she asked.

"Certain. Though the 'how' of the matter eludes me."

"And they're here in Vale now, I suppose."

"On the Mantle airship, no less. I saw him taken in handcuffs."

Cinder smirked and stepped closer again, now into the quickly fading circle of light. Fire danced at her fingertips to illuminate the room softly – she saw a bundle that must have been his armour in the corner of the room, alongside his other, smaller sword. "It's called Atlas, these days. Sooner or later, you'll realise that the world has passed you by while you've been begging at Salem's table."

Raime bristled. "I came to you for help, not to be belittled."

"I know you did. Have patience, pet. I can get you onto the airship."

"I'm not your pet, Cinder," he spat.

"Not mine, perhaps. Although – perhaps when she grows tired of letting you lick her boots…"

"You weren't there," he growled. "You didn't see-"

"-the end of the world?" Cinder smirked. "Always with the past, Raime. Always the same story. You waste your life." She shook her head, still smirking while he fumed silently. "You'll owe me a favour, of course. I'll help. I'll contact you again before the end of the tournament. Keep a low profile. I won't have you ruining  _my_  operation too."

She turned to leave, beckoning Emerald and Mercury to follow.

"There's more," Raime said.

"Is there?" she didn't even look over her shoulder.

"There's a student – maybe a full team – following my trail. A wolf faunus with silver hair."

Cinder halted in her tracks. The one from the CCT. She turned to look at Raime again. "Go on."

He pulled a dagger from his belt. "This was his. He knew I was at Izalith. He saw me at Carim – he and his teammate."

Cinder recalled what Mercury had told her. An exchange student from Vacuo. If he'd been hunting Raime too, he was almost certainly one of Ozpin's. And even if he wasn't, he was a thorn to be removed.

She'd seen them land too, back at Beacon. The patterns on the leader's coat – deliberate. She was sure of it. A hieroglyph cipher, without a doubt. Each pattern represented a small phrase, something to chant in his head to activate his semblance. His semblance could amplify the effects of shock dust.

And it was a technique she was aware of because she'd once used it too – with burn dust, perhaps, but using the same principles. It was a semblance that required intense concentration. Shaping the dust into words and phrases made that a little easier, though it was the equivalent of training wheels.

So – he was clever, but young, lacking the same discipline with his semblance that Cinder had worked so very hard for.

She'd have to remove that team from the tournament early – better safe than sorry. All it would take was finding a team, maybe even a semblance, to counter them. And with access to the CCT, all the students' records were available to her. Medical history, combat history – including semblances, if they'd chosen to divulge them. It would be a simple matter.

"You'll continue investigating them, Mercury," she said.

"You're aware of them?" Raime asked. "Are they Ozpin's?"

"Perhaps. They're an obstacle to be removed either way."

"If he  _is_  one of Ozpin's, I'd recommend that  _you-_ "

"Do not question my subordinate's ability, Raime," she said, stepping closer once again. The fire at her fingertips flared, now the only light in the room. "You're certainly in no position to question my judgement."

Raime's eyes narrowed, then he sighed. "Very well. I'll await your instruction." He sheathed the wolf's dagger. Cinder turned again, leading Mercury and Emerald out of the warehouse. The gears were turning in her head – Raime's failure could be used to her advantage. Certainly, it would weaken his position in Salem's eyes.

But there was still the matter of Sulyvahn to consider. His bid for power was just beginning, and if he caught wind of Raime's failings he would not hesitate to pounce.

"Does this change the plan?" Emerald asked.

It was beginning to rain. A little push of her aura, and the dust in her dress lit up. The droplets turned to steam as they touched her skin. "The plan continues. Mercury – you're to take Emerald's job spying on the first-years as well."

"What?"

"Emerald, when Councilman Sulyvahn arrives I want you to shadow him whenever you're not with me. Use your semblance to hide yourself from him, if you have to. He is not to be underestimated."

"Yes ma'am."

She nodded to herself, content with the small alteration, and set off into the night.

/-/

_Dear Priscilla,_

_This letter will come a few days before me. Wait for me by the east gate for one hour each day at dawn. I need to see you before I speak with Father. I suspect I shan't have a chance afterwards._

_Mistral is wonderful, little Yorshka. The people, the city, the culture – it's incredible. They live for themselves, not for a faceless Lord in an ivory tower. Father would have me change that. Perhaps even doom them. One who has been betrayed in their heart will betray in turn. This is my choice._

_If we fail to meet at the gate, this may be goodbye. Do not let Father quench your spirit. The world is a beautiful place, even if I cannot be there to show it to you. Promise me – promise yourself that you will one day walk this world and see it all it has to offer, for you deserve nothing less than all the world._

_I pray I will see you soon._

_Your brother, unto death and beyond,_

_Malgwyn._


	19. Calm

_You don't look too good. I don't know that I'm surprised. Were you always so very pale? Experiments, no doubt. The crazy bastard's obsessed with the advancement of knowledge. Immortality – that's what he's after. But I'm sure you've noticed._

_What does it matter, anyway? It's not like he's leaving. Especially not now. I have a feeling we're going to make a fabulous team. You and me, friend – it's us against the world._

_His death for our freedom. Kill the Warden._

/-/

"And you're  _sure_  you're fine?"

"Just a scratch!" Sun crowed. "Only a flesh wound, a minor setback, a… you know, I'm out. Just a dismemberment?"

"If it was  _just_  a scratch, they'd let you fight already," Ruby said smugly.

"It's just to be on the safe side," said Sun. "Seriously. I'm fine." He leaned back in his seat and laced his hands behind his head his gaze returning to the bout.

With students expected to be out on missions all week, there weren't any  _real_  classes scheduled at Beacon – at least nothing they'd be graded on – but instead there were organised sparring sessions for students who returned early. But with the Breach only a day before, there were a lot of students who hadn't even left Vale (and wouldn't for security issues), and so the sparring room was fairly full – it was open to students from all years, after all.

Today the bouts were being supervised by Professor Port. Ruby was pleasantly surprised to find that he didn't try monologuing over the top of the fights, though he  _was_  practicing his commentary for the tournament. Ruby had long ago learned how best to ignore the old professor.

"He is perfectly healthy," Penny said. She and Gilderoy had managed to form a fast friendship, the two of them sitting together on Ruby's right. "I believe that Sun would be able to fight as well as he ever did."

"See? I'm fine."

"I didn't say you were fine," Penny clarified. "I said you were healthy, in the physical sense. I apologise if that was misunderstood as a diagnosis of your mental acuity."

Sun recoiled as though struck, though a goofy smile spread across his face. "That hurt more than the train," he joked.

Ruby snickered. It took Penny another moment to catch on that it was a joke, but she soon joined in.

"Excuse me, excuse me – hey, Ruby!"

Ruby followed the voice to see Emerald pushing past Blake and Ciaran towards them, a teammate in tow – Mercury, if she remembered correctly.

"Hey, come on over!" Ruby scooted towards Penny to make room.

"Hmm. My money's on blondie," Mercury said, gesturing down towards the fight.

"Gough isn't good at close quarter combat," Gilderoy agreed. The large man was swatting at Yang as she ducked in and out of his guard, very rarely making enough room to fire an arrow at her. "He fights best from the backline. It's something we've been wanting to work on, but…" Gilderoy trailed off, shrugging. "Oh, this is… Mercury, right? Mercury, Penny, Penny, Mercury. Ruby-"

"We've met," Mercury said. "I think you literally ran into us." He plopped himself into a seat and offered Penny a little wave. "Nice to meet you, though."

Penny's eyes lit up. "Salutations, Mercury! Do you intend to spar today?"

"Not today," Mercury said. "Just here to watch."

"A good plan," Sun agreed. "Nice and laid back…"

"I hear your team was on the ground first at the Breach," Emerald said. "How'd that happen?"

"Well – we – that is, me and Nep and Team RWBY and Art – where's Nep, anyway? We got a tip that something was off in the area." If Ruby's memory served, Neptune and Weiss were talking in private.

And  _only_  talking, as Weiss had been sure to tell Yang.

"Huh, is that right?" Mercury shared a glance with Emerald. "Was it an anonymous tip, or…?"

"Tip probably wasn't the right word," said Sun. "Long possibly-detention-worthy story short, we were looking for trouble."

"Ah, actually,  _we_  were trying to do the right thing," Ruby clarified.

"Looking for trouble," Sun repeated. "And there's nothing wrong with that. Speaking of trouble – hey, Gil, where's Art?"

"Detention."

"Detention? You guys came back  _yesterday._ "

"He certainly sounds like trouble," Emerald laughed.

Port's expansive voice floated up from the sparring floor. "And with a crushing blow, Gough Iris' aura is reduced below the threshold! No, wait, hold on – Gough Iris is defeated? How about some crowd participation – do you prefer simplicity or verbosity?"

Nobody responded.

"Verbosity it is! Gough Iris' aura is reduced below the safety threshold, and he is thus eliminated from the round."

"Good fight, big man," Yang was grinning as she left the stage, Gough a few steps behind her. "Hey, do you mind if I call bragging rights? I mean, you know, you're a third year and all…"

"Be my guest," Gough said, not at all upset.

"Hey, Ruby-"

"We heard, Yang." Port was calling for volunteers down on the floor.

"Did you guys have to do a debriefing with the Atlesi- with Vordt?" Ruby asked, addressing Mercury and Emerald.

"No, actually – did you and grumpy-pants?"

"More like grampy-pants," Yang quipped. Ruby chose to ignore the terrible joke. "Yeah, with the council. Man, if you think Vengarl's grumpy normally, you should see him with the council. They're all-"

"They're all so boring!" Ruby exclaimed. "They're just like, 'file a written report to the department of stupid by this date in accordance with the standard procedure guide for boringness' and stuff! That's  _all_  they do. They say things. And they talked to us like we're kids-"

"You  _are_  a kid, Ruby," Yang said. She slung an arm around Ruby, her grin growing wider as the younger girl spluttered.

"That's not the point. They talked to Vengarl like a kid, too. He's like, older than all of them combined."

"Ouch," Mercury said.

"That's true, though," Yang mused. "I mean, when _we_  called him 'sir', it's endearing, right? But when they did it, it was just patronising."

"We did  _their_  job at  _their_  request and in return they just make us sit through a bajillion hours of pointless talking so they can pat themselves on the back!" Ruby ranted. "Okay, I'm done."

"Sounds rough," Mercury said, after a low whistle.

"It was only two hours," Yang corrected. "And they also paid us."

"That part didn't suck," Ruby agreed. Though Beacon had taken a small cut as they were still only students, they'd been allowed to keep the majority. Ruby wasn't sure what to spend it on. Ammo? A new weapon-cleaning kit? Or maybe she should just spend it on the simple things, like cookies and strawberries.

Or maybe she should save it.

Nah.

"Well then – what did you guys do?" Emerald asked, talking to Gilderoy and Gough. "Was it just as boring?"

Gough shifted uncomfortably, but it was Gil who answered. "We… failed. Kind of. Almost everyone survived, but the town was destroyed."

There was silence for a second, broken only by Port's exuberant narration of the ongoing spar.

"Oh," said Emerald at last.

/-/

"How much training have you had?"

Jaune glanced to the bleachers where his team was sitting, specifically to Pyrrha.

"Look at me, Mr Arc – I'm only letting them watch because they're your team. Discipline, Arc, discipline. How much training have you had?"

"I didn't train much before Beacon, then normal lessons with Professor Goodwitch and out of class with Pyrrha."

"Not much isn't much to go on."

"I didn't go to a combat school. I didn't learn privately. I just picked up what I could by myself." Which had been basically nothing, if he was totally honest.

"Hmm." Vengarl drew one of his two massive swords. "Hit me," he said.

"Uh… okay?" Vengarl rolled his eyes and flourished his weapon.

"Today, Mr Arc."

Crocea Mors rasped from his sheath, the shield expanding onto his arm as he dashed forwards. The blade came arcing down, only to be sent glancing away by Vengarl's weapon. Jaune continued his charge, raising his shield to block an overhead strike. His arm jarred from the impact, but he kept charging, only to find that he'd passed the old man by.

"Don't obscure your vision," Vengarl said. "Again."

Jaune levelled Crocea Mors for another assault, leaping forwards to stab Vengarl. The old man swung his sword at Jaune's own, throwing him well off-balance, but Jaune let the momentum throw him into a mid-air spin to whip his sheathe towards Vengarl's face.

There wasn't an impact.

He rolled away the moment he landed, expecting a counterattack to strike him.

Vengarl was, instead, watching him, slightly bemused. Nora too was laughing quietly in the bleachers. "Miss Valkyrie, you are here in the condition you don't interrupt. Please be silent."

"Yes sir!"

"And you'll stop calling me that?"

"Yes sir!" Nora giggled afterwards before quickly covering her mouth, her eyes wide.

Vengarl pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long sigh. "Mr Arc, do you often win fights?"

Jaune frowned. "Sometimes in Professor Goodwitch's class, yeah." He'd beaten some of the slower opponents a few times in bouts – like Cardin – but even that wasn't an easy victory. Actually, he'd come  _kinda_  close to beating Blake once.

Okay, that was stretching it. He'd only managed to land two hits on the slippery fighter. But it had taken a very long time for her to whittle him down in turn – it had been his slowest loss so far.

"Have you ever beaten Miss Nikos?"

"…no?"

"Hmm. It shows. You fight like you expect every blow to be blocked or to miss, Mr Arc. That may work against lesser opponents and the Grimm, but it won't get you far against someone who  _really_  knows what they're doing. I  _saw_  you fight yesterday, and you were better than this. Although…" he tapped his chin. "Do they still teach beacon psychology?"

"What now?"

"Apparently not." He cracked his neck. "Nikos, Valkyrie, Ren, it's good that you're here. Don't bother getting weapons, come down to the floor."

"Yes s-" Nora started. Ren covered her mouth with his hand.

"Thank you, Mr Ren. I'll be right back." He sheathed his sword and left the training room in a hurry.

"He seems… interesting," Pyrrha said. "Did he tell you why he wanted to train with you?"

"Not at all," Jaune mused. "He just kinda came up to me and said so, so I said 'sure, why not'."

"He keeps to himself," Ren said. "What do you suppose beacon psychology is?"

"I didn't know Beacon trained psychiatrists," Nora said. Ren patted her absentmindedly on the head, as one would a small child.

"He'll tell us," Pyrrha said. "What I want to know is what kind of questions those were."

"Yeah!" Jaune agreed. "I mean, obviously I wouldn't be able to beat you. You're… Pyrrha freaking Nikos, you know? It'd just mean that you're going easy on me, and that's not going to help me learn, right? I've been getting better."

Pyrrha blushed a little. "It's not that. It's the implication that you have no trust in your own abilities."

"That wasn't an implication, Miss Nikos," Vengarl said, returning to the room with something hanging from his grip, hidden beneath a cloth. "Implications are subtle." The cloth shook, and a rattling sound came from beneath it. "Nevermind that for now." He took the cloth off – in his hand was a bird cage, and within the bird cage was a small Nevermore.

"How'd you get that so fast, sir?" Nora asked.

He grimaced, but seemed to not think it worth correcting her. "A word of advice: never enter Peter Port's bedroom unarmed."

Jaune shared a nervous look with his team. "You're joking, aren't you?" Pyrrha asked.

"Not at all. Peter's probably going to be very upset if he finds this missing, by the way, so try not to kill it." He set the cage down on the floor. "Mr Arc, I want you to think of something that makes you unhappy, or afraid, or angry. The rest of you, think happy thoughts."

"Uh, why?"

"Because, Mr Arc, negative emotions are just as much a weapon as that sword at your side. You can yell and scream at a Grimm all you want and you'll probably get its attention, but if you're trying to draw it away from some civilians there's no better way to do it than looking extremely tasty to the Grimm."

"That's insane… that doesn't work, does it?" Pyrrha asked.

"It absolutely does," Vengal assured them. "We used to call it Grimm bait, but the official name they came up with was beacon psychology – the idea being that you can turn yourself into a beacon to the Grimm. We named this school after the tactic, in fact."

"We?"

He pursed his lips as Ren threw the word back to him. "Don't mind me," he said. "Mr Arc, I want you miserable in under sixty seconds. The rest of you, be happy."

"On it, sir!" Nora cheered.

"Don't – you know what? Nevermind."

What made Jaune sad, or angry, or afraid? Cardin's face came first – but then, all that made him feel was pity. Maybe a  _little_  angry, sure, but nothing intense, nothing that would really call out to the Grimm. Then Weiss – disappointment welled up within him, towards himself, but also bitterness, a strange apathy, a desire to forget, to move on. That was the point of all that, right?

But then, what else…

His parents. He loved them – he  _knew_  he loved them, and he knew that they loved him back, but something within him hurt terribly when he imagined their voices in his head. How dare they doubt him? He could do anything he set his mind to – he could be a Huntsman, he  _would be_ a Huntsman. He'd be a hero. Anger welled up within him. His fists balled, and his mouth set in a grimace.

"Feeling miserable," he called.

"Walk around the cage," Vengarl instructed. "All of you watch the Nevermore." Jaune did. The bird's murderous red eyes glared at him as he walked away from the group, its head turning to follow him.

"Good," Vengarl called. "Think happy thoughts, Mr Arc. Mr Ren, it's your turn."

"Me?"

"This is a group activity. You're all going to be working together for at  _least_  three more years. Four miserable gits make for better Grimm bait than one. Just be sure to never let these emotions control you."

Ren glanced at his teammates, a little more nervous than Jaune was used to seeing him. "I have a semblance-"

"Semblances rely on aura. Aura is fallible, your mind less so. You have sixty seconds."

Jaune watched curiously as Ren closed his eyes. There was a near instant reaction from the Nevermore – it lunged towards him, and the cage rattled violently. Its neck was pushed between the bars, and, with a small, quiet  _snap_ , the bird's neck broke.

Vengarl was quiet.

Ren opened his eyes again, and they followed the black smoke of the dissolving Grimm as it wafted out of the cage.

"We're done for the day," Vengarl said sharply, after a long pause. "I need to catch Peter a new pet. Mr Arc, we'll meet tomorrow morning. The rest of you are still welcome to observe, if you wish. Mr Ren, if you  _do_ , for some reason, wish to talk – I know I'm a stranger, but-"

"That won't be necessary," said Ren.

Vengarl nodded, then turned and left without another word, his shoulders stiff.

"What were you thinking of?" Nora asked, her voice small and shaky.

"I'm fine," he said. He seemed to be just his usual, calm self. Indeed, nothing seemed wrong with him at all. "It's an irrational fear, nothing more." He forced a smile.

That part wasn't normal at all. Ren didn't force smiles. He had a nice smile, a little understated little arc of the mouth. This was not that smile.

"Are you sure?" Pyrrha asked.

"Absolutely," Ren said. "What do you want for dinner, Nora?"

"Ren, if this is-"

"What a silly question, silly!" Nora exclaimed. She slung an arm around his waist and led him away, and Jaune saw Ren smile – truly smile – just before he vanished through the door.

/-/

Artorias Nym threw open the door with a loud, slurred, "Here I am!" stumbling into the office and moving his flask in the general direction of his face. With her semblance, Glynda Goodwitch snatched the flask from Artorias' hand before it reached his lips.

"Mr Nym," she said. Her voice was not a roar as such – more a whisper that still somehow rattled him to his core. "I shouldn't have to remind you that your rampant alcoholism is why you are here in the first place."

"Wait for it…" he slurred. Goodwitch frowned as she caught the flask. It seemed lighter than it should be – she shook it softly. No liquid sloshed within.

"Ta-da!" His grin spread nearly as wide as his arms. He straightened up, his drunken demeanour disappearing instantly. "Okay, first of all – ouch. Second – I'm pretty sure I'm here because of the miracle of birth, and lastly – for future reference, if you ever want me to share, you just have to ask." He walked over to the chair in front of her desk and plopped down in it. "And no," he added as an afterthought, "that doesn't mean I drank it all on the way here. I'm at  _least_  eighty percent sober."

"You truly fill me with confidence," she said dryly. "I'd ask you not to pull such an immature prank again."

"No promises," he winked. A cursory glance around the room told him that they were the only two occupants. Goodwitch's office was neat and tidy – as to be expected, he supposed – though she had a little clutter before her, mostly papers and pens (and, strangely, a quill). "Nobody else for detention? Seriously – did nobody spike the punch or something?"

"You seem disappointed."

"I am!" he crowed. "I expect more from Sun."

Something fierce glinted in her eye. Two massive stacks of paperwork hovered up from behind her desk. Artorias supressed the urge to flinch as they hit the desk, Goodwitch still keeping her withering gaze upon him. "You may leave once this paperwork is filled out, Mr Nym. I suggest you spend your time working rather than cracking bad jokes."

"Why not both?" Nevertheless, he leaned forwards, his eyes glancing over the papers. Medical forms, by the look of it. "What am I doing and how do you want it done?"

Goodwitch pointed to the left pile. "These are the medical forms of all the students to be participating in the Vytal Festival," she said. "We need to submit them to the Interkingdom Vytal Committee by the end of the week. Unfortunately – and as grossly inefficient as it is – the IVC requires them to be formatted in a certain manner." She gesture to the next pile. "These are the proper forms – they just need to be filled out and signed by Professor Ozpin."

"You mean you need to forge his signature?"

"No-"

"June always told me you did everything at Beacon," he said. "Take the compliment, Professor."

She hummed in acknowledgement, but neither agreed nor disagreed.

Artorias thumbed through the filled-out forms. "Aren't these private?"

"They're going to be reviewed by a board of old men. I'm not too worried."

He raised an eyebrow. "And you're not worried I might gain a tactical advantage…?"

"Information regarding semblances and weaponry are not included, Mr Nym. If you  _do_  use somebody's allergies against them in the tournament, however, you will be answering to me."

"Noted," he said dryly. Left unspoken was that he would rather answer to just about anyone else, though for the time being it was fun push her buttons just a little bit, and she even had a few hidden barbs of her own to trade. Glynda Goodwitch was not without a sense of humour, dry as it was. Honestly, this was almost a relief - he'd come clean with his team about Quill after talking to his mum, and Ciaran and Gough had been treating him like glass all day.

Even in Vacuo, despite the somewhat lax standards, he'd had to submit his full medical records and undergo a physical exam to fill in his medical form for enrolment at Shade – and then  _that_  had had to be signed off on by a licensed practitioner. Thankfully, coming from Flare, it had all been fairly streamlined for him. He imagined that at the other schools things would be even more strict, Atlas especially.

Bureaucracy was truly a nightmare.

"How do you want them ordered?" he asked.

"School first, in alphabetical order. Then by the students' last names, also in alphabetical order."

"Got it." The way he saw it, then, was that he had two options: fill out the IVC forms first, then order them as necessary; or order them now and fill them out in the order they'd be stacked in.

Functionally, it made little difference. But the second seemed easier, probably because it was leaving the hard work for later.

He flicked through the forms to find examples of the format for each school. All he needed was one little thing he could quickly note so he could throw them in four more separate piles. The forms from Atlas, for example, did everything in boxes – allergies, vaccinations, even pre-existing conditions (though there were options for 'other' with space provided to write out the specifics) – all categorised like a weird multiple choice test. Havens', meanwhile, were distinct from the rest in that they took note of dietary requirements in a separate section. Beacons' and Shades' were both pretty much the same, evenly spaced (and with very few checkboxes), but Beacons' were signed at the top of the form rather than at the bottom.

Taking these differences into account, Artorias began sorting them into four smaller piles, one for each school, not bothering to sort by the students' names just yet. He could get to that in another pass.

Goodwitch watched him curiously. "You're very quiet," she said. He liked to think she was at least a  _little_  impressed by his efficacy.

"I'm used to this kinda thing."

"Detention?"

Artorias smirked. "Nice one, Professor." She muttered something under her breath. He liked to think it was 'ass-kisser'. But it probably wasn't. "Well, yeah, but mostly the paperwork thing." He paused briefly as he came across Blake's form – it stated that she was a human. It must have been forged, unless she'd somehow hidden her ears for the physical.

"This is the first detention you've received all semester."

"You sound surprised. Maybe this is just the first I've  _attended,_ " he suggested. "I'd never stand  _you_  up, Professor."

"Flattering," she drawled. "The Headmasters of the other academies were sure to point out troublemakers among the exchange students, however. You, for example."

"June said that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "I'm honoured."

"Don't presume I haven't noticed that you're one of the laziest students to walk these halls," she said. "But you've done well for yourself regardless. I can't fault you that."

"Is this going somewhere?" He picked up the Shade pile and sorted through it, shuffling papers back and forth until they resembled something vaguely alphabetical.

"No, Mr Nym. It's merely an observation." She sighed, and polished her glasses. "You may not be an official student of Beacon, but I do have an interest in your success."

"I bet you say that to all the exchange students."

"I do," she said, probably thinking it wasn't worth the effort to tell him off. He was already in detention, after all. He went back to sorting the forms – moving on now to the Haven pile. Who knew Neptune was allergic to Nevermore eggs? Did he just have to touch them to break out into an allergic reaction, or did he (gods forbid) need to  _eat_  one?

He didn't even know Nevermores laid eggs. How did Grimm reproduce, anyway? Being a third-year student, he felt he should know the answer – perhaps Port had covered it. That would explain the gap in his knowledge, at least.

"I hear your team ran into difficulties on your mission."

He was careful not to miss a beat – Ozpin did mention discretion, after all. "Well, it took a while to convince Gil to go for that third beer, let me tell you-"

"Rampant alcoholism, Mr Nym," she reminded him. "And that's not my point. I thought you might want to know that I've already spoken with Arstor. Many of the survivors of Carim have already signed up for a council resettlement initiative."

"Arstor?"

"The earl," she amended. "He's… an old friend." She cleared her throat quietly. "I also thought you should know just how much paperwork it's incurred."

"Sorry?"

"Sorry indeed. Due to your…  _exemplary_  behaviour so far this session, you'll be joining me again next Thursday to assist me with it."

"Why Thursday? That's like, a week away."

"Because everything else I have to do between now and then might enable you to cheat in the tournament. I won't be responsible for that."

"What if I pinky-swear?"

She regarded him with a deadpan expression, then returned to her work.

There was another long gap in the conversation, peppered with occasional light questions – for example, 'Why hadn't all this medical stuff been done yet?' She'd answered vaguely – that it wasn't necessary until Amity arrived, that there had been more important work to do.

Which, if Artorias trusted June (and he did), probably meant that Ozpin wasn't pulling his weight in paper.

"Are you prepared for your final exams?" she asked after a long pause. Artorias was just getting stuck into the IVC forms.

"Enough," he said. He had neither studied nor listened to the lectures completely in the first place, though he was sure he'd be able to recollect at least  _some_  details under pressure. The exams were fast approaching, too – this week had been put aside to allow all the Hunter teams to return from their missions (though fewer had even managed to leave Beacon than in previous years), and then the theory exams were all in blocks from Monday to Wednesday the next week.

He fully intended to party on Wednesday night. Probably with Sun. Possibly also with Yang. And definitely with Gil, whether he agreed to it or not.

Then it'd be a few short days to Friday, when the opening ceremony for the tournament was to occur and the matchups for the four-v-fours determined. Then, a weekend of pre-tournament analysis, sponsorships, betting and advertisement – and then, finally, after the weekend, the tournament was to begin.

"How'd I do on prac?" There was no practical exam per se, rather their performances were evaluated over the course of the semester.

"You'll see," she said. Artorias took that to mean he'd either done really well or really poorly. Or that she wasn't allowed to tell him.

Nah. That was boring.

"I'm prepared," he said, filling in his own IVC medical form. "Ciaran's gonna shove Port's prose down my throat for the next week, and by then I should have digested all of Oobleck's lectures."

"Wish your team luck on my behalf."

"They don't need it," he said, "and neither do I."

"I didn't ask." Artorias snorted with suppressed laughter. Professor Goodwitch was, despite first impressions, a real riot.

"So," said Artorias, scribbling in his own medical details in an IVC-approved format, "what's Beacon's policy on alcohol, anyway?"

Goodwitch raised an eyebrow.

"Well – if that's why I'm here, I figure it can't hurt to learn what I did wrong."

"From a legal standpoint, you're all Hunters. Within the privacy of your own dorms, you may drink as much as you like – as long as you're not being disruptive."

"Disruptive? Me? Never." It was the same as at Shade, more or less, though the rules at Shade weren't as heavily enforced. He'd even gotten drunk with the headmistress once over a mountain of paperwork, the condition being that she wouldn't give him more detention if he managed more shots than her.

That had ended poorly for him. June had proudly proclaimed that she could drink with the best old bird in Remnant (and that the 'best old bird', whoever that was, looked absolutely gorgeous in one of her dresses).

The teachers at Shade were really,  _really_  lax.

"Regardless of school policy, I'd recommend straying away from such vices." Goodwitch placed his empty flask on the desk for him to take. "Drink responsibly, Mr Nym."

He pocketed the flask, shrugging in the most non-committal way he could manage.

They worked in near-complete silence. A little over an hour passed before Artorias finished his work, smattered with light conversation, though she maintained her clipped, austere attitude the whole time, humour only shining through when she allowed it to.

"Artorias?" she called, as he neared the door.

"Hmm?"

"Professor Ozpin told me to let you know: the Fume Knight worries him, but there are far greater issues we should concern ourselves with."

He nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing. "Anything else?"

She hesitated. "No. I'll see you on Thursday, Mr Nym.


	20. Curiosity

_I'd heard you were dangerous. Glad to see I was right._

_This one is just like you. A prisoner. But don't be fooled. She's not our friend. Or is it a he? I've never asked. I don't think it matters, to… him? Bah. Maybe I should know. It doesn't matter._

_Whatever. I hear they have every reason to hate you. That's their reality. Hatred and suffering and eternal imprisonment. They're stuck here, just as we are, and nothing we can do will change that. And what with that_ thing _lurking in the deep – not even death will be an escape, for this one. Watch out for that thing. Only one person may die here. Make it the Warden._

_We can forge a new reality._

_Don't get me wrong. We're doing them as much a favour as ourselves. It can't get any worse, after all._

/-/

"You don't seem at all worried by the Fume Knight," Lautrec said, reclining in his chair.

General Ironwood paced about the interrogation room, one hand stroking his chin. He kept his silence, trying to prompt Lautrec to fill the gap.

"I'm certainly worried about him," Lautrec continued. "More so than this whole murder business."

"I could lock you up for the rest of your life over it."

"What happens in Vacuo stays in Vacuo. It's out of your jurisdiction, isn't it?"

Technically, he was right – but given that Lautrec had killed one of the Maidens, he was sure June wouldn't mind. "You've told us everything you know about the Fume Knight, haven't you?"

Lautrec hummed his assent.

"Then I see no point in pursuing the topic here." Ironwood stopped his pacing. It was possible that Lautrec was keeping more from them – but then, the prisoner seemed rather concerned about his own safety, and the Fume Knight was a direct threat. He doubted that Lautrec would lie on that front. It simply wasn't in his interests.

The Queen, though. She was a worry. Given the Knight's apparent interest in the Maidens – or rather, the killer of a Maiden, it was entirely possible that the Queen was the one who'd attacked Amber. Was it possible for someone to possess the powers of multiple Maidens? Ironwood wasn't sure, and by the sound of it neither was Ozpin.

"Why did you kill Anastacia?" Ironwood asked, not for the first time.

And again, not for the first time, Lautrec stayed silent.

"Your aura anomaly – it began after her death?"

It had been a simple matter of hooking up Lautrec to the aura reader of a scroll to test Ozpin's hunch. The reader had gone completely haywire, and Ironwood had quickly sent for Doctor Polendina. The doctor was to arrive on Sunday, in two days' time – as was Councilman Sulyvahn for that matter. Not that they were travelling together. Doctor Polendina was unbelievably stubborn on that front.

"I've told you everything I care to," Lautrec said, "and you won't get anything else from me."

Again. Nothing.

Ironwood felt like the only one who  _cared_  about why Lautrec had killed Anastacia. Lautrec obviously didn't, or at least acted that way. Ozpin too wasn't concerned, apparently taking the stance that the enemy of his enemy was his friend, and that the Fume Knight was an enemy.

Which was a fair assumption, all things considered, but Ironwood wasn't quite yet ready to consider Lautrec a friend.

"Very well then," Ironwood said. Lautrec could feel free to sit tight in his cell until Doctor Polendina arrived.

"That's it?"

"That's it for now," Ironwood said.

"The cell's not all it was talked up to be," muttered Lautrec darkly.

"Nobody talked them up. You will be safe there - as will everybody else." The door to the interrogation room opened, and Ironwood motioned for the guards to return Lautrec to his cell.

Ironwood clasped his hands behind his back and closed his eyes to the empty room, sparing himself a second to gather his thoughts. The Fume Knight. The Queen. The infiltrator at the CCT. Torchwick and the woman in red. The White Fang. The Paladins. To borrow Ozpin's favourite metaphor, all were pieces on a chessboard. Some, perhaps, were even the same piece.

And then there was Lautrec, seemingly caught in the middle.

Torchwick, at least, was accounted for – but he was even more stubborn than Lautrec, unwilling to even acknowledge the existence of his superior, let alone divulge an identity. The Paladins too – all the missing prototypes were recovered from the tunnels of Mountain Glenn. But there was clearly a breach in security there. The Paladins had been snatched out from right under Atlas' nose.

That was a place to start.

But there were few leads to follow up on. It was hardly as if he could question the White Fang about it. Those captured in the aftermath of the Breach were fresh recruits, little more than cannon fodder. And in the short time since, White Fang activity had completely died down.

An internal investigation, then. A risk, to be sure – so close to the Vytal tournament, it was imperative to maintain order in the ranks, but if there was a mole they had to be caught. A job for a trusted specialist, then. Vordt had been overseeing the Paladin project during the early stages, so it wouldn't be out of the ordinary for him to return to the facility.

The Queen… a name that didn't bode well. Ironwood's hunch was that the infiltrator Artorias had fought and the woman Ruby had fought were both the same person – they'd both fought with dust, and from what little the students had seen seemed to share similar appearances. Was this the Queen? Perhaps. Either way, the Queen was a  _name_ , a  _title_  – as was the Fume Knight – and perhaps a name was all he needed.

It was time to read some old fairy tales.

/-/

"Shield up! Defensive stance!"

Jaune did so, placing his left foot forward and raising his sword so it pointed over the top of his shield, his eyes fixed on the empty air before him. Pyrrha alone sat in the stands, watching.

"Your team is being flanked by an Ursa, Mr Arc. Get its attention! It should be focused on  _you,_ not them."

Jaune let out a roar to the empty air and allowed his blade to dip lower, once, twice, bouncing off the top of his shield to clang loudly.

"Think negatively, Mr Arc."

Vengarl had since dispensed with using live Grimm to test him, but throughout training he'd continued calling out that Jaune should use Grimm bait. As before, he filled his mind with his parents' voices. He had to admit, he was a  _little_  concerned that focusing so much on something so negative would change the way he saw them, but it did the job. It would have to do.

"Focus, Mr Arc. Your stance is slipping."

His shield jerked up into position.

"Is the Ursa focused on you, Mr Arc?"

He nodded.

"Drill three!"

Another roar. Jaune leapt forwards, his sword darting over the top of his shield. His feet hit the ground half a moment later, and his right arm came back to chamber a strike, shield arm locked in place. His weight shifted to his back foot, and then he pushed forwards, shield slamming upwards. It came back to him briefly, then forwards again, using his arm for power this time in a move that would surely push through the guard of all but the strongest Grimm. Finally, his sword came arcing horizontally, right to left, then left to right, and by then his shield was back in place. He danced backwards to reset.

One, short nod from Vengarl. "Good."

Muscle memory, he'd said. Muscle memory was all-important – one should not be forced to be constantly coming up with attacks in the middle of a fight. He just had to have a handful that he could react with without even thinking. He'd thought he  _could_ , to be honest – he'd come away from the Breach safely enough, not to mention that was doing better against Pyrrha than he used to. But perhaps, Vengarl had suggested, he was simply getting used to combatting her particular style. And Grimm were small game anyway, he'd said.

Sure, they weren't as dangerous to him as they'd once been, but Jaune struggled to imagine them as 'small game'.

"That's enough for today," said Vengarl. "I'm aware that it's the weekend tomorrow, but I'd like to continue your training regardless."

Jaune nodded. He didn't have any plans set in stone, though he'd like to spend the time studying with Ren. Exams were coming up, after all.

"I won't keep you long tomorrow," Vengarl said. "Oh – and bring your team."

"Sure," Jaune said, catching Pyrrha's eye. She nodded back to him. Vengarl started towards the door. "Uh – Vengarl?"

"Yes?"

"I was just, uh, well, I was wondering why you wanted to train  _me_ ," Jaune said, rubbing the back of his head.

Vengarl's face was blank. He glanced between Jaune and Pyrrha, then sighed. "Do you wish your teammate to hear this as well?"

"Should I not?"

"It's fine, don't worry about it," Pyrrha assured him. "If it's private-"

"It's not particularly," Vengarl said. "But I am a private man, and if Mr Arc wishes for this to remain private, I will respect that."

"I still don't know what  _this_  is," Jaune said.

"I suppose not." Vengarl ran a hand through his thin hair. "If I were in your position, Mr Arc, I'd want my teammates to hear this. Does that help you reach a decision?"

"Do you want to hear it?" Jaune asked Pyrrha.

"Of course."

"Then sure," Jaune said. "She can hear it."

Vengarl nodded, placing his hand on the door handle. "Come with me," he said.

He led them through Beacon's winding corridors towards the west wing of the school. Jaune and Pyrrha both kept their silence throughout. At length they reached Vengarl's quarters. He let them in. They were somewhat more spacious than the student's dorms, with a small kitchen to the right and a lounge suite – the bed was even in a separate room.

That Jaune considered multiple rooms a novelty spoke of how quickly he'd become accustomed to Beacon's small dorms.

"Take that photo from the wall," Vengarl called.

"Uh…"

"Next to you."

Jaune looked to his left. On the wall next to the door was a framed photo of three young figures. One was clearly Vengarl. The other two were both fair-haired, a man and a woman.

"Take a seat." Vengarl made his way to the kitchen, rummaging around in cabinets while Pyrrha and Jaune sat on a couch. "Do either of you drink?"

"Sir?" Pyrrha asked, startled.

Vengarl sighed, but didn't correct her.

"No?" Jaune guessed. He'd had a sip of beer once – and hadn't really liked it. Though, he  _had_  once had a glass of wine, and that hadn't been too bad. But no, he wasn't really a drinker.

"Not really," Pyrrha said.

Vengarl pulled out a bottle of liquor. "Would you like a drink, Miss Nikos?"

"No thank you."

"Water?"

"Yes please."

Vengarl poured two glasses of whiskey and one of water.

"Don't I get an option?" Jaune asked.

"No," Vengarl said. He sat across from them, putting Jaune's glass on a little coffee table between them. He sipped at his own drink. "I suppose I should start at the beginning," Vengarl said.

Jaune and Pyrrha were silent.

"I was born… gods, is it that long? One hundred and three years ago, in a little town called Forossa," Vengarl said. At Jaune's side, Pyrrha let out a low whistle. "It was on the east coast of Sanus, settled by both Mistral and Vale – but we lived further up the coast than most such towns, where natural borders were… well, they were lacking. Every man, woman, and child in Forossa learned to fight. We had to, to survive. Didn't last forever, of course. The town was sacked by Mantle in the second year of the war.

"We scattered. Many of the survivors became mercenaries. Some stuck it out into the wilds by themselves. I journeyed to Vale and joined the army at the tender age of fifteen." He snorted to himself. "The minimum age to enlist was eighteen, of course, but a few forged papers and a strong desire to stick it to Mantle was enough to get me in. I was young, idealistic, naïve – and not quite as good a fighter as I thought I was."

Jaune and Pyrrha shared a glance. Something about that hit a little  _too_ close to home.

"Obviously I'm still alive, so I must have done something right. I marched under Commander Joseph Arc for the rest of the war. A good man, and a good friend." He gestured to the photo.

"This is my great-great-grandfather?"

"I don't know. I guess so. I lost touch with your family after Joseph died."

Jaune looked down to the photo. He didn't look that much different to himself. Blond hair, blue eyes, a strangely goofy smile. And the woman next to him – she too shared some features. Similar eyes, similar hair – though perhaps a little darker… "Is this my great-great-grandmother?"

Vengarl's face turned grim. "No. She died in the war." He lifted his drink in a toast. Jaune and Pyrrha did the same, then they drank.

Jaune nearly gagged as it went down.

"I shared my first real drink with Joseph," Vengarl chuckled. "It went down much the same way."

Jaune breathed heavily and gave a thumbs up of acknowledgement. Pyrrha patted his back soothingly. "What was he like?" she asked.

"He never lauded his rank over us and rarely issued disciplines, but we all respected him anyway because he was one of us. He was just another soldier who happened to call the shots. And he was a damn good shot-caller. I'd be dead a hundred times over if a lesser man had had his job."

"What happened to him? I mean, after the war," Jaune asked.

"We went our separate ways. I was busy at Beacon, so the next time I heard from him, he was inviting me to his wedding."

"Beacon?"

"I was the combat instructor here," Vengarl said. "I worked here for sixty years, give or take." He smiled a little, then shook himself, seeming to gather his thoughts. "Nevermind that. Joseph was murdered twenty years after the end of the war."

"What?" Jaune had never heard  _that_  part of his ancestor's story. But then, he hadn't known much to begin with.

"I don't know who killed him, though I have my suspicions. Joseph made a lot of enemies, and some people couldn't put aside old grudges, even after Vytal." He shrugged. "But there you have it. I offered to train you because I'm a sentimental old man who misses an old friend."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Jaune frowned. "Why didn't you just tell me, then?"

"Like I said, Mr Arc, I'm a private man. I keep to myself."

Jaune nodded in acceptance. He glanced back down to the photo. "All my life I heard stories of ancestors who were heroes," he said. "I always wanted to be like them. It's why I'm here."

Vengarl scoffed. "There are no heroes in war, least of all  _that_  war. Joseph was a good soldier, a brilliant tactician, and a damn good fighter to boot, but he wasn't a  _hero_. Learn of him and learn from him all you want, Mr Arc, but do not idolise him. You didn't sign up to be a hero, you signed up to be a Huntsman. There's a difference."

He stood, rolled his shoulders, then returned to the kitchen. "Are you glad you listened, Miss Nikos?"

"Who was the woman? The one who died in the war?" Pyrrha asked.

Vengarl, putting away the bottle of liquor, hesitated. After a moment's consideration, he poured himself another glass. "Her name was Lucatiel," he said, his voice quieter than usual. "And that's all you need to know." He downed his drink.

"Are you alright, sir?" Pyrrha asked.

"I'm fine." Vengarl sighed, and put the liquor away. "Forgive an old man his memories. I'll see you both tomorrow morning."

/-/

"And then he said he was fine, and he dismissed us, and that was that."

It was early the next morning, and Ruby was listening to Jaune tell her about Vengarl's story as they walked through Beacon. He'd prefaced it by saying that Vengarl didn't sound quite as alright as he acted, and that he thought Ruby should know, because  _clearly_  Ruby knew Vengarl better than Jaune did.

Which if Ruby was being totally honest, wasn't entirely true. Sure, they'd had that one mission – but Vengarl had been training Jaune all week!

"He's a hundred and three years old?" Ruby was honestly still struggling with that part. A hundred and three years was a very,  _very_  long time.

"Yup."

She'd known that he was an old man, but still. A hundred and three. Maybe she'd live to be that old as well. Maybe Yang would stop treating her like a kid by that point.

If Yang was still alive, at least. Ruby's eyes darkened. That was a sobering thought. Oh god – Vengarl had outlived all his friends. That sounded lonely. No wonder he didn't like talking about it.

"Do you think he trained all the teachers here?"

"Hmm?"

"I mean, if he was the combat instructor – do you think he taught Professor Goodwitch and Oobleck and Port?"

"I dunno," Jaune shrugged. "Maybe."

Maybe he'd even taught her parents! And Uncle Qrow, of course. Qrow had never mentioned Vengarl, though – but to be fair, Qrow hadn't told her about any of his other teachers, or much at all about his time at Beacon. Whenever it was brought up, he'd mutter something about blond bastards and that it was a story for when she was older.

"Do you think he'd teach us?"

"What?"

"Team RWBY. I mean, if your whole team is training today…"

"He didn't say that," Jaune corrected. "Just that he wanted us all there."

"What else could you be doing?" Ruby asked.

Jaune paused, grimaced, then nodded. "Good point."

"I mean, it's not like Ren and Nora and Pyrrha have ancestors he knew and he wants to train them too because of it, right?" Ruby asked. Jaune shrugged. "Uh… right?"

"Maybe? I don't know. Probably not, though."

"He would have said something, yeah?"

"He's a private man," Jaune said, doing a rather poor but still recognisable impression of the old man. Ruby laughed quietly.

"I'm just saying, if he's fine with training them, he'd be fine with training us too, right?"

"I don't know. May as well ask him."

Ruby nodded. "I will then! Afterwards, though. We're busy today."

"Yeah? What's up? Weiss isn't making you study super hard, is she?"

"Kinda. But no. We're up to super-secret world-saving stuff."

"How secret is it?"

"Yarrow. It's that Yarrow lead we've wanted to chase up for  _ages_ ," she said.

"The what now?" someone said. Ruby looked over; Mercury was just leaving his dorm.

"Hey, Mercury." Mercury was alright, in Ruby's books. He seemed to prefer to let Emerald speak for him, which was kinda what Ruby did with Yang. Well, with strangers anyway. But Mercury was opening up to them a bit now.

It seemed to take Mercury a second to register that he was being directly addressed. "Good morning and all that – so, what's this world-saving business, and how can I get in on it?"

"I've gotta go," Jaune said. "I'll see you later."

"Put in a good word for us!" Ruby called. "So, anyway, world-saving – earlier in the semester we found out that one of Roman Torchwick's allies was in contact with a forger called – uh, I don't remember his first name, but Yarrow. A guy called Yarrow."

"Huh. That sounds interesting. But Roman Torchwick's locked up now. Is it really that important?"

"Maybe? I don't know. Might as well find out, you know?"

Mercury paused, pinched the bridge of his nose, then in a dry voice said, "Good on you for taking the initiative and hunting him down, then."

"Well, we haven't yet, but…"

"Mind if I tag along?" Mercury asked. "I might be able to help."

Ruby smiled brightly. "Sure!" she said. "Why not?"

/-/

"Remind me to never go to a museum ever again," Artorias grumbled, earning a few haughty looks from the upper-class folk around the exhibit. The new exhibit opened today, and so the museum was more packed than usual – which probably wasn't saying much, if Artorias was being totally honest. The only people who normally went to a museum were people on school trips and tourists.

"Everything here has a history," Ciaran gushed, close by his side. "Even the  _building_  does. You know this used to be the royal palace? It was repurposed after the war."

"It's an old building. There are lots of old buildings. Woohoo."

"We're just here to see one thing, Artorias," Gilderoy said. "Then we can go back to Beacon."

Artorias frowned. He was looking for a scathing retort, some kind of normalcy. He glanced to Ciaran and Gough – neither offered an insult.

Honestly, he was fine. They didn't have to tread lightly around him.

"Seriously – I'd rather study than do this."

Silence. Really? None of them had anything to offer? Artorias rolled his eyes and followed his team deeper into the museum.

"And the whole team had to come along to look at this  _one bloody letter_ ," he muttered, more to himself than anybody else. He was sure Ciaran heard him, but she didn't glare at him.

In all honesty, the exhibit wasn't  _that_  bad. It was certainly comprehensive enough, including everything from old photos to rusted swords – there was even a prototype airship. Apparently it had been made before gravity dust had been synthesised, and had instead run on burn dust for thrust and wind dust for lift. It was quite small even compared to a Bullhead, let alone the modern Atlesian warships.

"See? Pre-grav dust flight – that's impressive, isn't it?" Ciaran prompted.

"It's alright," Artorias acknowledged grudgingly. Although…

It did give him some ideas on how he could use dust in the tournament.  _Bad_  ideas, to be sure, but ideas nonetheless.

"Found it," Gilderoy called. Artorias and Ciaran made their way over. Within a protective glass case were numerous documents of the period, and Gilderoy was pointing to one in particular.

"And what are we going to find that countless historians haven't?" Artorias asked. His question went ignored.

The letter was blurred and torn. The first words he could make out were  _doubt… poor progress… perhaps two..._

Then, a few more lines down, almost a complete sentence:  _reconsider… sake of the people._  Then another blur, then:  _we swore an oath to Vale… judgement… Operation Mirrah._

Then, as part of the next paragraph:  _Mirrah… command… duty... not on the grounds._

The only line that was untouched, fully legible, was the one just above the illegible signature:  _I await your reply._

"I said this was a bust," Artorias said. "Did you listen? Nope." Damn near nothing could be gleaned from the letter.

"Not everything I say or do needs to have an explanation. Not a logical one, at least." Artorias looked up – Professor Ozpin was standing behind them, watching them.

"Why did you ask me about it, then?" Gilderoy asked.

"I believe I just did away with logic," Ozpin smiled. "Never mind Operation Mirrah. Walk with me, Mr Ornstein."

"I'm hurt."

"Mr Nym, I think you said you'd rather study than spend another minute in this place."

"It's rude to drop eaves."

"Perhaps. It'd be irresponsible to keep you from your studies, however. Between courtesy and responsibility, I'd rather choose the latter." Ozpin nodded briefly to Gough and Ciaran, then led Gilderoy away.

"Well then," Artorias said, after a moment's pause, "I'm going back to Beacon. Are you with me, or are you waiting for Gil?"

"I'll wait," Gough said.

"I'll come with," Ciaran said.

"Don't like it here?"

"I'd rather study."

"You'd rather make sure  _I_  study," Artorias corrected.

"I'd rather study," Ciaran repeated, turning up her nose at him.

"Then I'm free not to study?"

"No."

/-/

"Do you write, Mr Ornstein?"

"Hmm?"

"Write letters. Some find the practice to be therapeutic."

Gilderoy shrugged. He'd grown up in an age of technology. Why write letters when the CCT enabled instant communication? "No," he said. "Do you?"

"No. When I wish to gather my thoughts, I play chess."

"Hmm."

They walked in silence for a while. Ozpin eventually brought Gilderoy back to the main foyer. The walls were lined with paintings, cases were full of sculptures. All of them were modern creations dedicated to the men and women who had fought and died in the war. All of them save for a massive painting of a lonely mountain top which loomed over the whole room.

"Logical or not, why ask about Operation Mirrah?"

Ozpin didn't answer. "What do you think of this?" he asked, gesturing to the painting of the mountain.

For one, it was big, so big that standing so close it was as though he was really there, inside the painting. It filled all his vision. He could almost imagine the chilly wind biting on his skin.

"It's… disorienting," he said.

"I suppose that's one answer," Ozpin mused. He sighed, and rested one hand heavily on his cane while the other reached into a pocket. He leaned in close, and whispered two words to Gilderoy: "Touch it."

"What?"

"Touch the painting. It's remarkable. It feels cool to the touch, like the snow it depicts. Some say that dust was mixed into the paint."

"Why, though? Won't somebody – I don't know – arrest me for it?" Ozpin was worrying him, in all honesty. He was sure it wasn't normal for the headmaster of a Huntsman academy to encourage students to touch priceless artefacts that they definitely  _shouldn't_  touch.

Although… June would probably do something similar, if the whim took her.

"Don't worry about security," Ozpin said. "I've spoken to them."

The look on his face said that he definitely had  _not_  spoken to security.

"I can't get detention for this, and if I get arrested it's your fault," Gilderoy said. Ozpin nodded, and gestured for Gilderoy to go ahead.

He did so.

Ozpin was right. It  _was_  cool to the touch, far lower than room temperature, but not freezing as one would expect of snow. It was pleasant, almost.

He returned to Ozpin, who seemed to have a great weight lifted from his chest. "What do you think now?"

"I wasn't aware you could mix dust into paint."

"You can't. Well – modern artists certainly can't. It can get explosive. This painting is ancient. Nobody can make a convincing forgery without rediscovering the technique." He took his hand from his pocket and patted down his suit jacket, drawing forth a scroll. "Thank you for your time, Mr Ornstein. Good luck with your exams."

"You haven't answered my question," Gilderoy asked. "Why are you interested in  _me_? Why ask  _me_  about Operation Mirrah? Why ask  _me_  about the painting?"

"Curiosity," said Ozpin. "Make of that what you will."

"But-"

"Every unanswered question breeds curiosity," Ozpin said. "And right now, you have many unanswered questions. Perhaps you will find answers. Perhaps they'll be the right answers. But I  _do_  want to see how you go about searching them out."

"Why me?" It sounded more like an excuse to not answer any more questions than a valid reason.

"Good luck with your search," Ozpin said, then he disappeared into the crowd.

/-/

_I cannot help but express my doubt over the Mantle campaign. One small foothold is poor progress indeed. It would take another legion - perhaps two - to break their line, and even then the loss of life would be too great a cost to bear._

_That is not why I write, however, though I beg of you to reconsider for the sake of the people. Need I remind you: we swore an oath to Vale, not to you. I, for one, will trust your judgement (for better or for worse) but others may not be so willing to throw away their lives for Operation Mirrah._

_I write to request that one Lucatiel of Mirrah be reinstated under my command. I assure you, I did not report her as being unfit for duty - certainly not on the grounds of insanity. I saw no sign that there was anything wrong with her at all - in fact, she was one of my best._

_I await your reply._

_Joseph Arc, Commander of the Blue Legion of Vale._


	21. Brawl

_Take a good look, friend._

_I want to call this one an abomination. A Grimm given life by semblance – a hereditary one, so they say. There's power in blood after all. Bloodlines, at the very least. But no matter._

_It's a Grimm of aura and substance. It's developed thought. It's certainly had long enough. Maybe it's even had long enough to lose it again. Maybe I have too. I'm sure it's lived far longer than its creator. An abomination indeed._

_I tried, you know. I tried to control it. Then this plan would be flawless. No risk for all the reward. Well, for me at least. But don't worry. I failed, obviously – what use would I have for you otherwise? Maybe I should have stopped there. Given up. But where would that have left us? I'd be nothing. You'd be nothing._

_Now, at least, you and me? We have a chance. And the rest of the world can burn._

/-/

"Fuck my life," Mercury muttered.

It turned out that when the stupid first year brat had said 'Yarrow' that she'd really meant it. Mercury had only met the man once, letting Roman and Neo handle the business end of the deal on his behalf. He'd just stepped in for the cleanup. Well, he and Em, at least.

Yarrow's house was in the poor part of the city, far from the airship docks. Suffice to say, it was a long walk, and the whole damn way he had to put up with incessant chatter from Ruby, and Yang's terribly jokes, and Weis just  _existing_ , and Blake…

Actually, Blake was bearable, if only because it was so easy to forget she was there – not necessarily a good thing, should they ever come to blows, but for the time being it was welcome. She was quiet, speaking only when she had something she thought worth saying. "We should temper our expectations," for example. "Yarrow's been missing a while. There might be nothing to find."

Mercury certainly hoped so. He and Emerald had cleaned the house out thoroughly, making sure that nothing was left behind to incriminate them. But forgers – good ones at least – were crafty sorts, saving evidence of their work in unexpected places so they had something with which to blackmail their clients should something go wrong. It was possible, if unlikely, that they'd missed something.

Yarrow's house was a run-down decrepit place, and it had been even before he'd died. The door was slightly ajar on its hinges, the wood rotting away, the paint peeling from the walls both inside and out.

It hadn't been  _quite_  this bad before.

"She's a fixer-upper, but she'll do," Yang quipped, pushing the door fully open.

Inside, it reeked of food gone bad. They found themselves stood in what was once the living room – one old, stiff sofa in front of a low coffee table, facing a projector that probably hadn't worked in years. A countertop separated them from a small kitchen, though calling it such was generous. Cupboards were ajar and empty, the stovetop crusted over with… well, Mercury wasn't sure what it was, and he didn't want to know.

"What a charming place," Weiss drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I've seen worse," Mercury muttered.

"That's hard to imagine," said Yang.

"I'm from Mistral. You should see the slums," he said, though that wasn't what he'd initially been referring too.

"Hmm? I've found Mistral to be a lovely place," Weiss said.

"On the surface, perhaps," Blake corrected. Weiss hummed in acknowledgement, though she offered nothing further. "Forgers – good ones, at least – tend to keep what they call an insurance drive."

"A what now?" Ruby asked.

"Something to give to the police if their clients screw them over," Blake explained. "Or just to blackmail them with. Most keep records of what the kind of document forged and who it was for, and some even keep copies of the document."

That was news to Mercury. "I've never heard of that before," he said. "Where'd you hear about it?"

"Long story.  _Should_  you have heard of it?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mistral," he said, by way of explanation. "Where crime's almost as bad as Vacuo, but with more paperwork."

"Well." Ruby clapped her hands together. "I guess we should… I don't know, look around? Could two of you check down the hall?"

"I'll do it," Mercury offered.

"I'll come with," said Yang. That was unfortunate. If he needed to get away, or if he needed to overpower them, he'd rather deal with Weiss first. But it was hardly like he could object.

Branching off from the living room was a short hallway lined with cupboards. At the end, to the left, was the bathroom and the toilet, which stank even worse than the kitchen. One door led to what was once Yarrow's office, which he and Emerald had already checked and found nothing. The other door led to the bedroom.

"That right there is a terminal," Yang said, entering the office. "Score."

"Do you really think he'd leave things in plain sight?"

"Worth a try, right?" She sat down in the office chair – then got up again and kicked the chair away. "Ew."

Leaning over, she booted the terminal up. The screen blinked and asked for a password.

"Well, damn," Mercury drawled. "I guess we should all just go home now." He knew the password, of course – it was 'password'. He and Em had already checked Yarrow's terminal. Somehow, it was clean. He must have done his illicit work elsewhere.

"Not a bad idea. Just  _being_  here makes me want a shower," Yang mused. She punched in a password. It worked.

"What was it?" Mercury asked, if only because he knew she'd expect him to.

"Password," she smirked. "I thought this guy knew what he was doing."

"Apparently not." Not that it mattered. Yang wouldn't find anything – not here, at least.

"I'm gonna check the other room."

"Sure, sure," Yang said, waving to dismiss him.

He departed, made his way down the short hallway, pushed the bedroom door open, and stepped inside.

The first thing he noticed was that the carpet had been torn up, revealing an open trapdoor in the floor that he and Em  _definitely_  hadn't seen before. The second thing he noticed was that the curtains – curtains which also hadn't been there, and which looked in far better shape than the rest of the house – were drawn. And the third thing he noticed was the sound of the door locking behind him.

He spun, chambering a kick, only to see a man standing behind him, a finger over his lips. Mercury obliged… in a sense.

He kicked, but didn't fire a shot off from his boot. Gunfire drew attention.

"What the devil?" hissed the stranger, using both arms to knock the kick aside. "Stop!"

"Why should I?"

"This is my house!"

"No it isn't."

"Okay, you're right. I'm squatting, alright? Same thing."

Just a civilian, then. Mercury almost relaxed, before recalling the speed with which the 'civilian' had reacted to his attack. He peered closer, getting a better look – an angular face with slanted eyes looked back at him.

"What's this?" Mercury asked, gesturing behind him to the trapdoor. If there was evidence down there, he needed to get his hands on it before Team RWBY.

"How many of you are there?" asked the squatter.

"Four more. What's down there?"

"Mercury!" Yang called. The door shook. "You in there?"

"Mercury?" The squatter muttered. His eyes sparked. "You're one of hers."

Mercury narrowed his eyes. "What do you-"

"Mercury?"

"Door's stuck, just – uh, hold on a minute!" the squatter called back, doing a rather unflattering impression of Mercury's own voice.

"What do you mean, stuck? Are you alright? You sound unwell."

"Hold on," Mercury called, gritting his teeth. "What do you know?" He hissed, now to the stranger, settling once more into a fighting stance.

"Ah-ah-ah," the stranger tutted. "I've had a lot of time on my hands, you know? The forger kept everything, and I've read it  _all._  I could blow your cover in an instant. Medical records, wasn't it? Boring records, though, I tell you what. Shoulda thrown in some allergies, some phobias… hell, maybe some mental disabilities. I hear schizophrenia is popular."

Mercury hesitated. They'd had the medical records forged so he'd be able to hide his less-than-organic legs from the tournament officials. Team RWBY wouldn't be able to discover  _that_  little advantage just from reading the forgery, but that it had been forged at all – and paid for by  _Neo_ , of all people…

Incriminating. Not good.

"What do you want?"

Outside, he could hear vague muttering from Team RWBY. The door shuddered again as something slammed into it. "Oh yeah, Mercury, you might want to stand back," Yang said.

"Tell her I said to let Raime fail," said the stranger. "She'll understand."

"And who are you?"

"Names are precious things," he smirked. "But if she wants one… hmm… Lapp will do."

Mercury nodded slowly, committing it to memory. "You'll keep the forgery secret?"

He smiled broadly. "Of course, friend. You're going to have to help with that, though. All his equipment, all his  _files_  – just down there." He gestured towards the trapdoor, behind Mercury. "There's a ladder, don't you worry. Just be sure to deliver the message, and we're even."

The door shuddered again.

Mercury nodded again and turned towards the hole, peering down into the darkness. He couldn't see a ladder, but he could clearly see a desk, numerous writing implements on it – a gutted terminal in the corner, wiring hanging loose-

Something slammed into his back.

He tumbled forwards, grunting a little in surprise, then letting out a heavy breath of air as he struck the concrete face-down.

"Sorry, friend!" Lapp whispered, though it was the sort of loud whisper that still carried a considerable distance. Mercury pushed himself back up and looked above him. The stranger was holding his  _wallet_ , of all things – and what was that in his other hand? A little data chip.

Bastard. And there wasn't even a ladder. That made him a  _lying_  bastard. Fuck.

"That was just for fun, though. You'll still deliver the message, won't you? Otherwise, this'll find itself on Ozpin's desk. And – maybe a few more favours besides? Oh, why not?" He leaned in closer, his voice dropping quieter. "I have a feeling we're going to-"

The door rattled again, and there was a resounding  _crack_  – were they just trying to tear a hole through it? Idiots. Lapp paused to look away, his brow furrowing.

Mercury considered using recoil to boost himself out – but then, Team RWBY would certainly hear the gunfire, and Lapp wouldn't like to have his cover blown. And right now, when he held the one little thing that could uncover Cinder's operation, he wanted to stay in Lapp's good books.

"It's time to go," said the stranger, grinning like a loon – then his face disappeared, and light began to stream in from above soon after.

It was a minute more before Team RWBY finally broke through the door. Yang's face appeared in the hole. "A very nice door you got here," she said. "Very stuck."

Mercury rolled his eyes, but didn't respond.

"Seems to me like  _you're_  the one stuck. Don't lock the door next time, okay? I mean – I understand privacy and all, but we were so  _worried_ -"

"We get it, Yang," Blake said. "What's down there?"

Mercury glanced around. A desk, covered in quills and pens with varying nibs and many,  _many_  pots of ink. In the corner, a document scanner, and against the wall, a terminal with its data chip removed.

"Nothing of use," he said.

Nods from above. Blake threw down her ribbon for him to climb back out.

"Did you guys find anything?" Mercury asked, dusting himself off. The curtains were now open, as was the window – he assumed that was how Lapp had made his escape.

"I found myself," Yang quipped. "Went on a whole journey of self-discovery. You could almost say I  _forged_  myself anew."

Dead silence. Mercury could have sworn he heard crickets chirping.

"There was a lot of blood in the bathroom," Blake said, after a long,  _long_  glare at Yang. "Fresh, too. It couldn't have been from when Yarrow went missing."

"Fresh blood," Yang mused. "That's a… nice way to put it."

"Well, I'm out," Mercury said, more relieved than anything. As long as they didn't run afoul of Lapp, they could investigate whatever they wanted. "We've got team practice later," he said, as an excuse.

"Lame," Yang teased. "Nice job with the, uh, with the pit, Merc." She stretched, and let out a long yawn. "We may as well head back with you, right?" She looked to her team for approval, getting nods all around.

Mercury suppressed a groan. "You're not going to look into all the blood everywhere?"

"There's not really much we can do," Weiss said. "We don't have the resources."

"It kinda sucks," Ruby agreed. "The most we can do is let the police know."

"And they're not too likely to look into it, unfortunately," Blake said. "It's not like this happened to a councilman, or a CEO. This is the most crime-infested part of the city."

Mercury felt his stomach dropping. He  _really_  didn't want to spend any more time around them than necessary. "Well then," he said, forcing a smile, "back to Beacon?"

"Back to Beacon."

Internally, Mercury was screaming.

/-/

"I'm generally not one to say 'I told you so', but-"

" _You did tell me so, I know. So I was wrong – I've been wrong before. It was a chance I felt I had to take."_

Ozpin turned back to his desk, sipping at his coffee. June's face, projected from the desk, wore a deep frown.  _"For what it's worth, I'm sorry for putting that burden on you."_

"I've dealt with worse," Ozpin dismissed. He could have sworn he could hear Lucatiel snorting, but, glancing around the office, he couldn't see her.

He had to remind himself that she wouldn't be real anyway.

June sighed and moved on.  _"This is very concerning, though. Lautrec, the Fume Knight, the incident with the painting – not to mention the infiltrator at the CCT. Have you heard from Qrow?"_

"Not for a while," Ozpin admitted.

" _You need allies, Ozpin. Allies in Vale. If Logan could handle matters here by himself, I'd join you there."_

"I'm meeting with Vengarl in a minute," he said. "I intend to convince him to stay longer."

" _Good,"_ said June.  _"And good luck. I was surprised to hear he was staying at all."_

"He's taken an interest in Jaune Arc," said Ozpin.

" _Should we be interested too?"_

"Vengarl was a friend of the family. Mr Arc is notable only for being close with Miss Rose and Miss Nikos."

" _And you want Pyrrha to be the Maiden."_ June shook her head.  _"I said I'd trust your judgement in this, but she_ is _a well-known figure."_

"She's also a talented fighter in her first year. She'll be safe within Beacon's walls for three more years," said Ozpin. "I'd consider Miss Xiao Long if she weren't so prone to seeking out trouble."

" _Qrow's certainly left his mark,"_  June mused. The elevator dinged – Vengarl had arrived.  _"Very well. Good luck, Ozpin."_

The call ended. "Come in," Ozpin said.

Vengarl stepped into the office, his face unreadable. "Oz," he said, by way of greeting.

Idly, sipping at his coffee, Ozpin wondered about the wisdom of consuming caffeine so late in the evening. "I'm going to be honest with you," he said, "I want you to stay here at Beacon indefinitely. What would that take?"

Vengarl paused, not even at his seat yet. "Straight to the point, I see."

"I'm under a lot of pressure."

"Are you?" Vengarl sat across from him. "There's more to it than just the Maiden, I presume."

"Far more. What do you want to know?"

"Nothing."

Ozpin's brow furrowed. "Nothing?"

"I'm done, Ozpin. I'm old, and I'm tired. I'm done with scheming behind closed doors. I'm done finding new Maidens for you. I'm done with relics and Lords and I'm especially done with reincarnations." He stood again. "I'm sorry to waste your time."

Vengarl was halfway to the elevator when Ozpin made up his mind. "What about closure?"

Vengarl halted in his tracks, and turned. Ozpin brushed a hand against the metal leg of his desk and felt his aura thrum in response. A hidden compartment revealed itself. From it he produced a little doll of wood and straw, ancient, yet humming with dormant power.

"The key to the Painted World?"

Ozpin nodded. "It's yours, if you want it."

"No, it's not." Vengarl shook his head. "If that falls into the wrong hands-"

"Yours aren't the wrong hands."

"I'm not as strong as I used to be, Oz. I don't know that I  _could_  protect it, even if I wanted to."

"Sleep on it." Ozpin slipped it back into the hidden compartment, and it closed, seamlessly disappearing into the metal leg. "I want you on my side, Vengarl."

The old man was silent as he left.

/-/

"This is your fault too, Em. We were  _both_  at Yarrow's."

Emerald kept chortling with laughter. "He kicked you off a ledge!"

"He was very quiet!"

"He was very quiet," Emerald mocked, breaking out into another fit of laughter.

Cinder did her best to drown them out.  _Let Raime fail._  That was something she  _had_  considered doing – why should it become her responsibility, after all? But she doubted Salem would be pleased if she didn't help him when he needed it. What was more concerning was this… Lapp.

Perhaps it was Tyrian? He sounded unhinged enough. But then, he was in Mistral last she'd heard, and why would he use a fake name? It definitely wasn't Watts, or Hazel – they simply didn't match the description. But who else knew Raime? Nobody to her knowledge. And he couldn't have been a spy of Ozpin's, or their cover would have already been blown.

_Let Raime fail._

She didn't have to decide yet – not until the time came, or unless Lapp contacted them again. She needed information first.

She could feel a headache forming, and not just from her subordinates' bickering. Lapp. Sulyvahn. Raime. The Maiden.

She needed more information. She couldn't just let Lapp run around blackmailing them. But who could find him again? Emerald would be occupied with Sulyvahn, soon enough. Mercury, perhaps – but she needed him to stay with the students, to learn who they'd send on to the later rounds and, possibly, to learn when Ozpin chose his Maiden. Neo wasn't an option – the girl was vital to their plan, and her loyalty was in question anyway.

Raime owed her a favour – well,  _if_  she ended up helping him – but he wasn't subtle in the slightest.

She could maybe deal with him herself… but out of all her allies, she was the most recognizable. Qrow had seen her face – blurred, perhaps, but he'd likely caught the basic features. The wolf too, and same with the little Rose girl. If she drew  _any_  attention to herself this late in the plan, it would be an undue risk.

She gritted her teeth. All she could do was wait. If Lapp contacted them again, she could cow him into submission, perhaps – or just kill him. But she couldn't risk searching him out.

/-/

"Do you think he'd mind?"

The next morning, Team RWBY joined Team JNPR in the training room. Vengarl had yet to arrive – which, Jaune said, was rather unlike him. He was usually punctual.

"Probably?" Jaune said.

"Do you think he'd mind enough to kick us out?"

"Probably not," Pyrrha said.

"He wouldn't," Yang said confidently. "I think he likes us."

"As much as he likes anyone," Nora muttered. "We were practicing team attacks with him yesterday – you should have  _seen_  how annoyed-"

"He told her to stay still for two seconds while he worked with Jaune and Pyrrha," Ren said.

"It's outrageous!" Nora complained.

"He was very nice about it."

"How could you teach us something like Flower Power and then expect us to  _not_  keep trying it?"

"Flower Power?" Blake asked.

"We named our team attacks," Pyrrha said.

"The names are a work in progress," Ren said.

"I dunno – I kinda like it," Jaune said.

At that moment, the door to the training room opened, and Vengarl entered, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Morning, Gramps," Yang greeted.

No response. He looked to Jaune. "Spar with Miss Valkyrie," he said. "Focus on deflection. You can't meet brute force with brute force. Miss Valkyrie, no explosives."

"Aww…"

"Miss Nikos, Ren-"

"Are you alright, sir?" Ren asked.

"I'm fine. You two, dismissed."

"Sir?" Pyrrha asked.

"What?"

"You're not alright," Ruby said.

"I'm – Miss Rose, I don't recall inviting your team to these sessions."

They shared a look amongst themselves. "We invited ourselves, sir," said Yang.

"I'm here to-"

"Don't call me sir," Yang said, cutting the man off. "Whatever happened to that?"

He stopped, rubbed at his eyes, then said, "I was getting to it." He sighed. "It's not your fault. I'm just I' – I'm sorry, I need some time alone. I'm sorry to inconvenience you, Team JNPR – would you mind skipping today? We can continue tomorrow after your exams."

"We can help," said Pyrrha.

"I know we don't know each other too well," Ren said, "but if you  _do_ , for some reason, want to talk-"

"Very funny, Ren," said Vengarl dryly. "That won't be necessary. And I appreciate it, Miss Nikos, but this isn't something you can help with."

"Not with hugs?" Ruby asked. It was an honest question, too – there were few problems a hug couldn't abate at least a little.

Vengarl snorted. "If only. I'll see you tomorrow as well."

"You mean you'll-"

"That's why you're all here, no? For training?" He shrugged. "Don't make me change my mind."

"We'll be there," Weiss assured him.

"Good." He breathed deeply. "Good."

Ruby took it as a dismissal, and both teams left, shuffling awkwardly out the door.

"Well," said Nora. " _I_  say we make him some pancakes. That always helps  _me_."

"We should leave him be," said Jaune.

"We could make pancakes anyway?" she suggested.

"Not to steal Weiss' job," Blake said, "but I actually really need to study."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Blake said. "Nothing at all."

"She means you're a nerd," Ruby whispered.

"I'm an intellectual, thank you very much! And I thought you said you were already  _ready_  for the exams." She levelled a glare at Blake.

Blake's eyes darted left and right. "I lied," she said sheepishly.

"We should probably study too," Jaune said. "I mean, at least we've been spending our time training, so… not a waste, right?"

"I'll join you," Yang said. "Library?" She and Blake left with Team JNPR.

"Et tu, Yang?" Weiss sighed, turning to Ruby. "And I suppose you-"

"Nope."

"Hmm?"

"I'm ready. I've revised all the material, written some practice essays… what's the other thing you said we should do to prepare?"

"Review the criteria?"

"I've done that too," Ruby said proudly. "I'm ready."

Weiss eyed her suspiciously. "Really?"

"I'm not that good at lying."

"Good point." She shrugged. "It never hurts to do it again though."

"Nope."

"We could just sit with them while they study, take some of it in again, internalize it…"

"Nope!"

Weiss shrugged again. "Fine. Well,  _I'll_ …" she trailed off, her head tilting as though listening for something.

Ruby listened too. She  _could_  hear something. Like a Bullhead, but the sound was quieter, a little lower-pitched perhaps.

Weiss rushed to a window. Outside, a pair of ships flew past, both gleaming white in the sunlight. The smaller had long tassels trailing from its rear, while the larger one had gold plated on its side for decoration.

"She's here." Weiss whispered.

/-/

James Ironwood dismissed the headache gathering behind his right eye. "Sulyvahn!" he greeted.

"James." Councilman Aisling Sulyvahn descended the boarding ramp, garbed in opulent robes of white and purple and gold. "It is good to see you, my friend." He turned to Ozpin. "And Headmaster Ozpin? I don't believe we've met."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Councilman," Ozpin said. They shook hands.

"You've quite a reputation, Headmaster," said Sulyvahn. "The pleasure is mine." He turned to General Ironwood once more. "Forgive me, but it's been a long journey, and I'm to meet with the council of Vale this afternoon. Could your men show me to my quarters? I wouldn't want to bother you."

Bother indeed. Almost as soon as he'd been appointed head of security, Sulyvahn had contacted him about organizing a secure room for him in Beacon, rather than a hotel in Vale. It hadn't been a huge hassle, to be fair – but considering that Sulyvahn wasn't part of the military, it was a strange request.

"Of course," Ironwood said, forcing a small smile. "Right this way."

/-/

"Winter!"

"Your sister?"

Weiss' sister turned to her, flanked by Atlesian Knights, her expression stern and cold. But Weiss knew that underneath the mask, she was glad to see her. "Winter! I'm so happy to see you! Oh – your presence honours us."

"Beacon. It's been a long time. The air feels different." Winter paced forwards.

"I mean, it is Fall, so… it's probably colder." And of course, Ruby had come along too. There was absolutely  _no_  way this could go wrong.

Weiss physically deterredRuby from saying anything else.

"So, what are you doing here?" Weiss asked.

"Classified."

"Oh, right. Well, how long are you staying?"

"Classified."

"Of course." That was just the way things were. It was unfortunate – but Weiss understood. Protocol was important in Atlas.

"…well, this is nice… I think." Ruby broke the silence.

"You're going to love it here! I know you travel a lot, but so much of Beacon is different from Atlas! Vale too – the government and school are completely separate. Can you believe it? I-"

"I'm more than familiar with how this kingdom handles it bureaucracy. That is not why I came."

"Right. I'm sorry."

"Specialist Schnee?" A short, balding man descended from the airship, a robot behind him carrying a variety of strange instruments.

"Excuse me," Winter said, addressing Weiss and Ruby. "Your quarters are in the east wing of Beacon, Doctor Polendina. You no longer report to me. Now you report to General Ironwood."

"But-"

"Leave us," she commanded, addressing both the doctor and the robots. He withered under her gaze, and departed towards Beacon, followed by a pair of Atlesian Knights.

"Polendina like Penny?" Ruby asked.

"My apologies," Winter said, addressing them again. "How have you been, Weiss?"

"Oh – splendid! Thank you for asking! I'm actually in the very top ranking of our sparring class. Both myself and my team are quite prepared for the upcoming-"

There was a stinging pain on Weiss' head. It took her a moment to realise that Winter had slapped her. "Silence, you boob! I don't recall asking about your ranking. I asked how you've been. Are you eating properly? Have you taken up any hobbies? Are you making new friends?"

"Well, there's Ruby."

"Heh… boob." Ruby snickered. Weiss sighed.

Winter regarded Ruby with cold eyes. "I see. So, this is the leader you wrote of. How appropriately… underwhelming."

"Ah… thank you."

"Greetings, Ruby Rose. I wish to thank you for taking an interest in my sister."

"Oh, yes, of course! The honour is in my… court!"

Weiss resisted the urge to hold her head in her hands and scream. Honestly, it was sometimes hard to remember that Ruby wasn't a trainwreck  _all_  the time.

"I have business with the general and your headmaster. But – seeing as I'm early, why don't you take me to your quarters?"

"Really?"

"Yes. I wish to inspect them and make sure they are up to my personal standards."

"Of course. Just so you're aware, the bunkbeds only  _look_  unstable."

"…bunkbeds?" Winter didn't sound impressed.

But nevertheless, Weiss was sure she'd at least be okay with the dorm's setup. Weiss too had been concerned about safety, but given that she'd had a hand in the bunkbed's construction (a term she used loosely), she was sure they were fine. Juvenile, perhaps, but fine. Perhaps she could spin it as a way in which she'd established rapport with her team. Winter understood the value of teamwork, after all.

Behind them, there was a loud clang, followed by a familiar voice cursing. The Atlesian Knights turned around, raising their weapons. "Halt!" Winter called.

Weiss facepalmed.

One of the Atlesian Knights was struggling to get up from where it had fallen, its robotic limbs not capable of properly righting itself. Standing over it was Artorias, swaying a little, a flask in hand. "Sorry!" he called. "It tripped, wasn't me – really, it wasn't." He pocketed the flask. "So… are these things sentient?" He walked up to another robot, stopping only when its mask flashed a warning sign.

"I don't have time for this," Winter muttered.

"Gonna take that as a yes," Artorias said. He seemed to lose his balance and stumble closer, and the robot opened fire. A quick punch put the robot out of commission. "Sorry, Ice Queen!" he called again. "Self-defense!"

"You  _do_  know who you're talking to, don't you?" Weiss called.

"Winter Schnee, right?" Artorias leaned in, his eyes narrowing. "Yup, Winter Schnee."

"You realise you just destroyed Atlas Military property," Winter said.

"Property?" Artorias was taken aback, holding a hand to his heart mockingly. "Thank the gods, they're not sentient. A real weight off my chest, that is. Unless – they're not  _slaves,_  are they?"

"Ignore him, Weiss," Winter said, turning away. "Let's go."

He muttered something under his breath. "I've always wanted to free slaves," he said, loudly. "One of those big noble goals, you know? Stop all Grimm, end world hunger, put an end to slavery. I can cross something off my bucket list!"

"Artorias, leave," Winter said, and seemingly despite herself, she turned back to watch him, her eyes narrowing.

"Artorias, leave," Artorias mimicked. "Artorias, sit. Artorias, heel. Artorias, fetch. Did you have your joke butler write that one for you?" He stumbled towards the next pair of knights.

"Walk away," Winter said, "or I will  _make_  you walk away."

They each fired at him – another punch took one out, then he smacked the gun from the other's hands and lifted it by the head. "Is anybody in there?" he asked loudly, shaking it. "You're free now!"

Weiss would have asked herself once more what the hell he was up to, but Winter had already taken off, her speed enhanced by a glyph, sabre drawn. Artorias tossed the robot away. There was a fierce glint in his eye as he stepped forwards into Winter's charge, forcing her to halt her momentum early – which she did, a feat Weiss knew to be quite difficult without the aid of more glyphs.

Artorias dived under a slash from Winter, coming to his feet behind her with more grace than Weiss expected from a drunk and drew his sword. He struck at Winter's unprotected back, which she avoided by pirouetting into a backwards handspring. She recovered from the complex acrobatics faster than Weiss could have ever imagined, and she pressed the attack, forcing Artorias backwards across the courtyard.

"What's going on?" Ruby came up next to her. "Is that Artorias?"

A vicious grin crossed Weiss' features. "She's going to crush him."

"I hope not."

"What?"

"I mean, it's not that I  _don't_  like your sister," Ruby said. "But she was  _kinda_ rude. And she hit you!"

"You don't even know her! And she was very polite."

"For Atlas, maybe," Ruby grumbled. "Artorias is rude on purpose. There's a difference."

Weiss huffed and turned back to the fight.

Artorias was still on the defensive, though Winter wasn't managing to break through his guard. A swift kick changed that, but Artorias let the kick carry him backwards and away, rolling as he landed to come up to his feet before Winter caught up to him. Winter sidestepped a wild upwards swing, then it was her turn to go on the defensive, slanting away the powerful reckless strikes that Artorias rained down from above. She managed to weave through his attacks, stepping too close for them to have any real strength – but his gauntleted left fist caught her in the side. It didn't stop her from bringing her sabre slicing down on his right shoulder. He leaned into the blow, making his cobalt aura splutter and spark angrily, but it successfully pushed Winter away and gave him room to renew his assault.

The elder Schnee flitted just out of his range, taunting him with how close she let his strikes come to her. Artorias snarled and swiped, channeling his aura through his blade. A wave of energy knocked Winter away, and he leapt skywards after her, almost hanging mid-air, blade held above her parallel to the ground like some kind of guillotine.

Then he dropped.

Winter dashed away, and the force of his blow carved a gash into the ground. But he barely had time to register it, for Winter was charging at him again, sabre held before her like a fencing rapier. Artorias batted it aside with his gauntlet, but Winter kept the momentum going, spinning into him and bringing the back of her left hand  _cracking_  across his cheek like a whip.

Even Weiss winced. Aura or not, that must have hurt.

Artorias stumbled away, his cheek already going red. Winter pressed the advantage, scoring two more strikes across his chest before he recovered, knocking her sabre away with his heavier blade. He danced away, narrowly dodging her follow-up strike. A hand reached for a pouch at his belt, and he brought forth a fistful of dust crystals.

"Look out!" Weiss called, but he didn't attack Winter with them. He ducked low under a blow, then punched the ground itself.

She wasn't entirely sure what it was he was trying to do, but Artorias flew high into the air, howling with laughter. Then he came crashing back down, spinning into the blow for more power. Winter drew her parrying dagger and held both her weapons in an 'X' before her to block the strike.

The impact brought her to her knees and left cracks in the pavement below her, but it worked.

Artorias rolled to his feet not a moment after he landed. Winter dusted herself off, smirking, but her expression quickly turned serious as a broad figure garbed in white and blue pushed its way through the crowd.

"What've you got for me, Winter?" Artorias taunted. But he too went quiet when the figure laid its hand on his shoulder.

"General Ironwood, sir!" Winter saluted, sheathing her weapons.

Artorias cleared his throat. "Uh… hi?"

"What do you have to say for yourself, Mr Nym?" he asked, his voice nary a whisper – yet the words carried over the silent onlookers.

"…she attacked first?"

"Is that right?" Ironwood looked to Winter.

Technically, Artorias had attacked the robots – but then, they'd attacked  _him_. Sure, they'd given him fair warning, but he  _was_  drunk.

Wasn't he?

He didn't seem to be anymore.

"Both of you, with me," Ironwood directed. "The rest of you, there'll be time enough for fighting and spectacle when the tournament begins. Disperse."

It was as though a spell had been lifted. Slowly, the crowd began to chatter amongst themselves, and sound returned to the courtyard.

"Well, he wasn't crushed," Ruby said.

"Winter  _definitely_  won," Weiss said.

"But he wasn't crushed."


	22. Aegis

_You'd be surprised what's become of the outside world._

_Take the King of Mantle. He died in the little girl's arms._

_That's all I remember, the day my vigil began. Looking out as though through bars of a cage, and seeing a mighty Nameless King, his head cradled in the lap of a frightened young girl._

_History passed us by. There's a war now, you know? My only chance. Yours too. And even then… it's rather slim, isn't it? But even if we fail, we can rule the ashes of this little prison. Isn't that nice?_

_These two came recently. I suppose that must mean_ he _still has enemies out there. But nevermind that – the sane one? He's taken to the role of warden quite nicely. Whatever you do, don't enter the crypt. We don't have to kill his charge, and he doesn't like it._

_He's the one who reminded me that there was a life beyond this. That I used to be somebody, even if… well. I owe him something, I think. So do you. You and me, we're in this together._

_His death for our freedom. Kill the Warden._

/-/

"So, how've you been?"

Artorias' query went ignored. Winter kept pacing back and forth across Ozpin's office, her mouth set in a thin line.

"Bad day, huh?" In the corner of his eye, Artorias saw Ironwood shake his head, just slightly.

The elevator doors opened, and in stepped Ozpin and Glynda. "Specialist Schnee," Ozpin said. "We're glad to have you with us at last."

Winter nodded shortly, keeping her silence.

"From what I hear, you were drunk in public  _again_ , Mr Nym," Professor Goodwitch said. "We won't have to extend our detentions any further, will we?"

"Ah, about that." Artorias slipped his flask from his pocket. "See? It's full. I was just messing around."

"I'll forward the details to your scroll."

He sighed. "Yes ma'am." A smirk flitted across Winter's face before she smothered it.

Ironwood pinched the bridge of his nose. Artorias could just about imagine how much of a headache he'd caused the general. "Our original intention was for the two of you to work together again," he said. "But in light of… well, given your  _recent_  interaction, I'm beginning to think that might be a bad idea."

"Beginning?" Artorias asked.

Ironwood didn't dignify that with a response.

"Regardless," Ozpin said, filling the silence, "I believe that you can work through your differences. Am I correct?"

"Fine by me," Artorias shrugged.

"We'll talk it through," Winter corrected.

Ozpin frowned. "See that you do. James?"

James stepped towards Ozpin's desk and placed his scroll down. A screen was projected onto the air, displaying numerous files. He brought one up. "The man who sacked Izalith calls himself the Fume Knight," he informed Winter. A hologram showing his armour came up – likely recreated from what Lautrec had told him. Some minor details weren't quite right – his gauntlet, for example, was on the wrong hand – but for the most part it was accurate.

"Mr Nym encountered him on a mission a recent mission. We believe he could be a threat to the festival's security." Winter stepped forwards, examining the file closely. Artorias could only see one other piece of information aside from the armour: a list. Of other villages he'd destroyed? Yes, it must be: Izalith at the top, Carim at the bottom.

"I thought you had bigger fish to fry," Artorias said, looking to Ozpin curiously.

"And  _we_  will handle the bigger fish," Ozpin said. "We're leaving the Fume Knight to the two of you."

"I'm not sure if I'm flattered or insulted," Artorias muttered.

"Use your brain – I'm sure you have one. You'll work it out," Winter said.

"Ouch. I didn't hit a nerve back there, did I?"

She turned away from the hologram to address the older Hunters. "Do you have any leads for me?"

"He's hunting Anastacia Sil's killer," Ironwood said. "A man named Lautrec. He's being held on the flagship. I've been questioning him as to why the Fume Knight wants him, and how the Fume Knight finds him, but he's either ignorant or tight-lipped on the subject."

"Is there anything else?"

"We'll tell you if we learn anything," Ozpin said.

Winter frowned. "I'd suggest using the killer as bait. If we take him far outside of Vale-"

"That isn't an option," Ironwood said. "Not yet at least."

"Classified?" Artorias asked, raising an eyebrow.

"For want of a better word, yes," Ozpin agreed. "Classified."

He nodded in acceptance, as did Winter. General Ironwood swiped his scroll from the desk. "I'll forward what little we have to your scrolls. Do you have any questions?"

Artorias raised his hand. "Let's say I'm busy with this when I'm supposed to have detention-"

"We'll reschedule, Mr Nym," Goodwitch said.

"I was thinking-"

"I'm sure I can find more paperwork, if you'd prefer?"

Artorias paused mid-sentence. "Nope. No questions," he said.

"I thought as much," Goodwitch said.

"Both of you, good luck," Ozpin said.

_I don't need luck._

Artorias and Winter both entered the elevator. Artorias hit the button for the ground floor.

There were a few moments of blissful silence.

"What the hell were you doing?"

"Having a good time? Weren't you?"

"When I was seeing my sister, yes – and I'd rather have kept doing that."

"I didn't stop you," Artorias shrugged. "You attacked first."

"You attacked my soldiers."

"Do they  _really_  count as soldiers? Besides – self-defence."

"You provoked them."

"I also provoked you. You're not a robot – what's your excuse?"

"I was defending my-"

"Your property?"

She paused. "Atlas' property."

"You wanted a fight," Artorias asserted. "I have a lot of ears, you know. I heard you. You told Weiss to ignore me. If you didn't want to fight, you'd have followed that advice."

"You wouldn't shut up!"

"You could have ignored me," he repeated. "But instead, we fought, and you had a good time. Don't lie. You enjoyed it."

She didn't respond for a while. At last, she said, "I admit, it was a little therapeutic."

Artorias smirked. "Bad day?"

"Classified," she said.

"Ouch. Chilly," he quipped. The elevator opened up at the bottom of the tower.

"I'm going to find my sister," Winter told him. "We'll meet this evening to formulate a plan."

"Winter, I-"

"I'll see you this evening, Artorias."

"I need to talk to you. About something serious."

"For once."

"Oh, ha, very funny." He rolled his eyes.

Winter didn't seem impressed. "Can it wait?"

He sighed. "I guess it can wait a little longer," he said. "We're cool, right?"

"I suppose you're not any less sufferable than before," she said.

"…does that mean cool?"

She grimaced. "We're 'cool'," she said, seemingly in physical pain at saying the word. Artorias grinned at her discomfort. "Five o'clock – my office. Don't be late."

"You get an office? We just have the-"

"Shut up, Artorias," she said – then turned on her heel and left.

_Coulda gone worse._

/-/

"So, with repeated readings, you are able to recall the information with greater ease?"

"Mhm." Gilderoy turned the page of the textbook. Words were beginning to blur together a little. He'd been the first to come to the library in the early morning – other students had come and gone, and he'd just kept studying.

"And you don't find that boring?"

"Oh, it's  _very_ boring," he said dryly. "But it's a necessity. Ciaran seems to like it – I swear, she's like a machine when she gets to work." And Artorias only  _really_  studied when they made him, but still passed anyway – albeit with less than stellar results, but a pass was a pass.

Penny shifted in her seat. "Ha ha, yes, like a machine. A witty observation."

Gilderoy glanced up at her. "You alright?"

"Do I seem not alright?" she responded, adopting an innocent smile.

He shrugged, pushing the textbook away. "Never mind. Are you ready for your exams?"

"They are unseen questions, are they not?"

"Well, yes," Gilderoy said slowly. "Mine are too. That's why I'm preparing for multiple eventualities."

"I was led to believe they would all be within the bounds of the course material."

"Do you really think Professor Port covered  _all_  the course material?"

"I don't know," Penny said. "The syllabus was not made available to me."

Gilderoy crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "At your last lecture, what did he say to the class first?"

"Hmm…" she frowned, and her eyes glazed over a little. "Nothing I'd consider off-topic," she said.

Gilderoy's brow furrowed. "Could you repeat his words for me?"

"Of course. He said, 'Only tangle with more than eight women at once if you're below the age of thirty and over seven feet tall.' Why do you ask?"

Gilderoy blinked. He opened his mouth, looking for an answer, and found none.

"Are you alright?"

"How is that not off-topic?"

"He told us once that 'woman' and 'ursa' were synonymous," she said. "Do you think he meant literal women?"

Gilderoy's brow furrowed as he thought it through. Honestly, knowing Port, it could be either.

Penny frowned, and she reached for her scroll. Her eyes lit up, and a broad smile spread across her face.

"Good news?"

"Oh – I believe this is considered to be classified, but yes, it  _is_  good news," she said, jumping to her feet. "I enjoyed studying with you, Gilderoy – good luck with your exams!"

"But you didn't even… you just sat and talked – nevermind," he muttered, watching her leave.

He let out a long sigh and stood up, stretching his arms. A cursory glance at his scroll told him it was nearly noon – but it already felt like he'd had a long day. One look back down at the textbook told him it was high time for a break.

/-/

"I trust you weren't followed?"

"I took precautions," Cinder said, sweeping past Sulyvahn into his chambers. An uncomfortable chill ran through her as she brushed past.

"I'm glad," said Sulyvahn. "I wouldn't want to put your mission at risk." He sat in a small wicker chair. "Wine?" he asked, gesturing to two wine glasses placed on a table before him, alongside a bottle of red.

"I'm not much one for communion," Cinder quipped, sitting across from him.

"Nor for pleasantries, I see. Allow me to educate you on the finer things." He poured them each a glass, but neither drank just yet. "Your girl – the green-haired one. Emerald, wasn't it? You're not having me followed, are you?"

"Not at all," Cinder lied. "She is a student here, you know. We all are."

"Posing perhaps, but I see your point." He raised his glass. "To our respective assignments."

Cinder obliged. Crystal clinked against crystal – and Cinder was sure to drink before Sulyvahn. It was a display of confidence: by doing so, she showed she knew he wouldn't dare poison her drink. She wouldn't put it past him, of course – if it suited his goals. Not that she knew exactly what his goals were, but she knew he needed her for the time being. He'd been quite clear on the matter.

What he'd been  _assigned_  to, of course, was the recovery of the relic at Atlas. Cinder had been assigned to the Fall Maiden – and later Beacon tower too, when it was clear the Maiden had found refuge under Ozpin's roof – but strangely not Beacon's relic. The relic itself was too dangerous, Salem had told her. Another ally would retrieve it after Ozpin's demise.

Regardless, Sulyvahn wasn't  _in_  Atlas anymore, and that was some cause for concern. Had the relic been moved? Had his assignment changed? Was he following his own agenda? She couldn't say for sure, but the latter seemed most likely. He was acting awfully suspicious, after all.

"Have you heard from any of our mutual acquaintances?" Sulyvahn asked.

"Careful," Cinder teased. "For a second I thought you'd call them friends."

"People like us can little afford friends," he said. "But I would like for us to be friends."

"Would you? I may not be an authority on the subject, but I don't believe friends threaten each other's lives."

"Hmm? Oh. Don't worry – not yours. Emerald and Mercury first – and  _then_  you, if you didn't fall in line," he said casually. "That won't be necessary, will it?"

"That depends what you want from me," Cinder said. Normally, this would be the point in negotiations where she'd lay it on thick – settle into their personal space, flash a little leg, subtly threaten to melt their faces off – but she knew Sulyvahn wouldn't be swayed by anything of the sort, and so she abstained, for now.

Threats were still on the table, of course.

"Raime's been busy," Sulyvahn said, changing the topic. "The fool can't stay quiet for two seconds. So many towns, so many lives…" he shook his head. "The scorpion is half-mad, but at least he doesn't draw attention to himself. I don't know why she keeps Raime around."

"She doesn't. She sends him halfway around the world to ruin somebody else's day," Cinder quipped.

"Touché. But she's done the same to the rest of us." With his left hand, he waved dismissively, while with his right he raised his glass to his lips.

"He's been with her the longest," Cinder said. "She's not one to punish loyalty."

"She's more than willing to punish incompetency."

Sulyvahn spoke the truth. Cinder hid a smirk at the thought of Raime as he was now, hiding in Vale, little more than a frail old man. Better not to tell Sulyvahn that Raime was in  _her_  pocket, for the time being.

"You've done something to the CCT here, have you not?" he asked.

Cinder raised an eyebrow.

"Please – I have a specialist as an informant. I heard about your little break-in. What did you do?"

Vordt – of course. Cinder hadn't been quite sure if the specialist simply owed Sulyvahn favours or if he was truly devoted to the Pontiff's cause, but now she was inclined to think the latter.

"What would you do with that information?"

Sulyvahn sighed. "Obstinate as ever. I swear on Saint Aldrich's grave, I'm not going to sabotage your plans."

"Unless I cross you."

"Unless you cross me, yes. Come now. What would I gain from it anyway?"

Cinder rolled her eyes. "Full access to all documents saved on the system," she said. "I can also rig the tournament matchups, and control what the CCT broadcasts."

"That's quite a virus," Sulyvahn said. He seemed impressed. "Do you have access to Ozpin's own files?"

"Of worth? No," Ozpin wasn't so foolish as to put anything of value in a digital file – and besides, she already knew he was harbouring the Maiden somewhere. What she  _did_  find useful were Beacon's files – especially the student records, all of which would help her tailor the tournament to suit her needs, and to find Ozpin's likely candidates for the Maiden. "But this is all undetectable. Well – relatively."

"Nothing's perfect," Sulyvahn agreed. "One last question – when do you intend for Beacon to fall?"

"Not interested in the nitty-gritty details? My, you were so inquisitive just a few moments ago."

"It is of little consequence. I simply need to know how much time I have available to me."

Cinder leaned forwards, peering closely at him. His pale purple eyes glinted back at her. "What's your plan?"

"I don't know yet," he said, spreading his arms helplessly. "I have a goal. I can't form a plan to reach that goal without more information. Hence…" he motioned towards her. "Talk."

She held his gaze for a few more seconds before speaking. "The finals. Possibly the first day, but more likely the second." She'd have to gauge the audience when the time came.

"Thank you," Sulyvahn said, finishing his glass of wine. He gestured to the bottle. "Unless you wish to continue enjoying my pleasant company, I believe we're done for now. You're posing as a student, no? Do try to enjoy your exams tomorrow."

Cinder suppressed a sneer. Paltry,  _boring_  tests, but a necessity to blend in. "Give your good friend Aldrich my regards," she said curtly, heading for the door.

"I will."

Cinder paused. "It's idiotic," she said, turning back to him, her brow furrowed. "You have met an actual god – a living, breathing deity – and you still choose to worship the Deep. Why?"

He too stood, and his gaze sent another chill down Cinder's spine, despite herself. "I believe in the coming of the Deep," he said. "I believe in the second coming of the Saint. I worship neither, nor will I worship Salem. Drawing strength from your faith in another is a pointless endeavour. Draw strength from others' faith in you, however… well. Look at all Salem is achieving. That's proof enough for me."

"And who has faith in you?"

"Nobody of importance – and that's what matters. By taking on their burdens you weaken them, but  _you_  grow stronger for the challenge. My followers are unimportant  _because_  they are my followers. It is a vicious cycle, like the King Taijitu swallowing its other head. Take my advice: use their dependency, feed upon it, until you have exhausted them. Then leave them."

Leave Emerald and Mercury? Cinder would be quick to admit they meant little to her – but she certainly bore them no ill will. They were loyal, after all, in their own way, and when they weren't bickering they were pleasant enough company.

Raime was another matter entirely. Dependent? Surely. How else would he find his way onto the Atlesian warship? His victory would be hers, and she would make sure Salem knew it when they returned to her. "Honest wisdom from a dishonest preacher," she said. "I'd be remiss to ignore it."

Sulyvahn smiled. Cinder suppressed a shiver. "Good." He raised his empty glass towards her in a mocking toast. "To meetings between friends," he said, then turned away, holding up a hand to dismiss her.

/-/

"You're late."

"Fifteen seconds," Artorias protested, rolling his eyes. "I'm fifteen seconds late. Don't be so petty."

"You're worth being petty towards," Winter said. "Come in."

Artorias obliged, stepping into her office: a small room on the corner of the north wing. One little window looked out towards the Emerald forest in the distance. A door led to what Artorias presumed to be her quarters proper.

Winter walked to the desk and sat behind it, gesturing for Artorias to sit opposite her. He had the uncomfortable feeling of being called to the teacher's office for punishment. He supposed that was what she was going for.

"Have you had a chance to read over the files General Ironwood sent us?" she asked.

"Chance? Yes. Have I?"

"Have you?" Winter prompted.

"I-"

"Rhetorical question, of course you haven't," she dismissed, bringing up her scroll. "A summary of Lautrec's interrogations, for one – and a transcript, though a lot of that is redacted-"

"Ah, 'classified', the classic excuse," Artorias drawled. "Look – can it wait for a second?"

"Depends. How do you want to spend that second?"

"On a serious discussion. I know, shocker."

Winter rearranged the pens on her desk. "Go on."

"First of all, I'm sorry. About that call?"

"It's not a proper apology unless you do it in person, is it?"

"Smartass," Artorias muttered. "I don't care if I apologised then. I'm apologising again now."

Winter huffed. "Continue."

He sighed. "What does my file say about my father?"

"Nothing," she said. "Not even a name. Why?"

"He was an ass," Artorias spat. "Acted like he loved me – and maybe he did – but he treated Mum like shit, when I wasn't there to see it. Not physical abuse – not often – but the worst kind of emotional abuse. He was a drug addict, you see. He'd write some of his own prescriptions so he could get a quick fix – and that's just scratching the surface. And who was left to clean up after his oh-so-numerous mistakes? Mum. She never got a damn 'thank you' for it either. He'd just yell at her over petty shit. He wasn't docile even when he was drugged up." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Not that she let me see that side of him. Not for a long time. He left when I was four, to a town on the north coast. We stayed in contact for a bit – letters and the like – but he disappeared off the face of Remnant after another year or so."

Winter was silent, watching him curiously. There was something oddly comforting about her cold gaze.

"Mum only told me what he was really like – gods, must have been around the time I was accepted into Flare. It's strange to think that they loved each other once. Mum only stayed with him as long she did for my sake." He slipped the copper signet ring from his finger. "This used to be her wedding ring. Well – the closest thing she had to one. They were never legally married – didn't believe in that sort of thing. Anyway, Mum thought it'd be some sort of comfort to me. I guess it was, for a bit. I mean, asshole or not, he was still my dad, right?" He laughed half-heartedly. "Then we found him in Vacuo."

"Arthur Quill," Winter murmured.

"Yup," Artorias said, popping the 'p'. "I don't know what changed. He used to be a doctor – and he was good too, when he was sober. I guess you can do good deeds and still be a terrible person. Maybe he finally snapped. Maybe the Fang had dirt on him. I don't know, and I didn't really care. I just knew that because he wasn't around, Mum had to work multiple jobs with stupid hours just to put food on the table. I knew that she'd never felt safe around him. I knew that I was his legacy, and if anyone could make him hurt, it was me." Artorias shrugged. "I blamed a hell of a lot on Arthur Quill. Most of it was probably justified. And maybe vengeance wasn't the right course, but fuck it, it's done now." He shrugged again, settling deeper into his chair. "I just thought you should know."

It took a moment for Winter to respond. "I didn't know."

"That was by design," Artorias snorted. "My design, specifically. You weren't supposed to know.  _Nobody_  was."

"Of course." She let out a long sigh. "If you want to talk about it-"

"That's what I just did. Talked about it. You were there, and I thought you should know. Can we move on?"

"We can," she said, hurrying to take the opening. She brought up her scroll. "Regarding the Fume Knight, we have three options. First, we could wait for him to make his move and react to it. For obvious reasons, this is not ideal. We could also lure him out, or we could hunt him down."

"I thought General Ironwood said we couldn't bait him."

"Not with Lautrec," she said. "But we could potentially find someone to act as a body double. It'd be difficult to make the disguise believable, of course. We don't know  _how_  the Fume Knight's been tracking him. Unless you saw something at Carim?"

"No. Nothing of the sort. Although… have you seen Lautrec yourself?"

"No."

"Are you aware of – it's hard to explain – he glows beneath his skin, like a second aura. Are you..." he trailed off, gears in his mind whirring.  _Like a second aura._

_And they found the souls of Lords within the flame._

Was that what Ozpin had been hinting at? Was the tale true? Had Lautrec literally found another soul, a  _special_  soul? Surely not. But... what if he had?

"Artorias? What is it?"

He shook himself from his thoughts - he'd speak with Ozpin about it when the opportunity arose. "A hunch. I'll look into it in my own time. Were you aware of Lautrec's condition?"

She skimmed over the transcript, her eyes flicking back and forth. "I was not."

"It could be a brand, of sorts," Artorias suggested. "Nobody from Izalith mentioned it, remember? The Fume Knight may have branded him since – it could be a semblance or something. Maybe that's how he knew where Lautrec was."

"Possible – but hard to confirm. Either way, I agree that luring out the Knight is nigh impossible without further information, which brings us to the third plan." She steepled her fingers, resting her elbows on the desk. "We'll hunt him down. Atlas intelligence is aware of a good source of information for matters relating to Vale-"

"I'm going to stop you right there," Artorias said. "It's Junior, isn't it?"

"It's Hei Xiong, yes."

"First of all, he'd  _really_  hate to see me again."

"Oh?"

"Long story," Artorias dismissed. "Secondly, what the damn hell would Junior know about a warrior who  _literally_ fights alongside Grimm?"

"The Fume Knight is waiting for an opportunity," Winter explained. "If he's to capitalise on that opportunity, he'd need to be close at hand. There's a good chance he's hiding within the walls."

"I'm going to say this again, and slower: what would Junior know?"

"I don't know," Winter said, mimicking his cadence. He rolled his eyes at her mockery. "You grew up here. You tell me: who would be most likely to know about any strange characters entering or leaving Vale?"

"The immigration office?"

Winter scoffed. "Please. A half-intelligent Beowolf could fool Vale's immigration office. Mr Xiong is still the most reliable source of information for underworld matters in Vale, no?"

"As far as I know, yes," Artorias grumbled. "Fine. When are we going?"

"We'll meet there. Two hours. Dress casually – I don't want us to be recognised on the way there." She stood, gesturing to the door. "I'll see you then."

"What if I have plans?"

"You don't."

"But what if I did?" Winter stood behind him and tilted his chair, spilling him onto the floor. "Rude," Artorias said, his voice muffled somewhat by the carpet.

"Don't be late again."

Artorias pulled himself to his feet and dusted himself off. "Fifteen seconds!" he repeated.

/-/

"My daughter seems quite fond of your school, Headmaster Ozpin," Doctor Polendina said. "I'm glad for the invitation. I'm all for her becoming more independent, but it was good to see her again."

"You're here for a job, Doctor," Ironwood reminded him. "I don't want to keep you from Penny, but I hope you understand that she's not why you're here."

"Of course, General," Doctor Polendina said, bowing his head slightly in submission. "I understand completely."

Their boots echoed on the metal floor of the airship as they walked down the corridor.

"I'm glad she's fitting in," Ozpin said shortly. "We look to make Beacon a home for students from all walks of life."

Not that Ozpin knew exactly what 'walk of life' Penny was from, Ironwood thought, and for the time being it was best to keep it that way. Penny wasn't perfect. She stuck out like a sore thumb, and not just because of the bright hair. Unless Doctor Polendina could create a more nuanced model – a perfect candidate to become a Maiden – it was better to keep Ozpin in the dark.

But Doctor Polendina was understandably loathe to continue that line of research. Penny lacked social understanding, sure – but she was still a person, and both the Doctor and the General saw it as immoral to create a new prototype. What would that do to the girl's psyche, if she felt she could be simply mass produced, if she felt she was obsolete? And so, the project had been shut down. Penny would learn, given enough time – and then she could become the Maiden she was meant to be.

They halted in front of the door to Lautrec's cell. "In here?" Doctor Polendina asked.

"Indeed." Ironwood punched a code into the pad by the door, and the cell opened. Lautrec looked out at them, bags under his eyes.

"I see," Doctor Polendina said.

"Just like that?" Ozpin asked.

"Close the door. I've seen enough."

"Nice to meet you-" Lautrec's sarcastic greeting was muffled by the door closing again.

"My semblance allows me to see a person's soul," Doctor Polendina explained. Ironwood always found Doctor Polendina's demonstrations with his semblance to be unsettling, to say the least. "It's how I developed an interest in the study of aura – being the manifestation of a soul, you see."

"I'm well aware," Ozpin said.

"Oh, of course – my apologies." Again, Doctor Polendina bowed his head. "Yours is quite brilliant, Headmaster, I must say. All those colours embedded in the emerald…"

"Doctor?" Ironwood prompted.

Doctor Polendina cleared his throat. "Right. Needless to say – every soul is different. Your suspicions were well-founded – the prisoner has two, and one is certainly not his own."

"How can you tell?"

"It's hard to explain. Most souls pulse, as if with a heartbeat. It's nothing noteworthy if they  _don't_ , but one is clearly having its pulse suppressed by the other. It's like it's trapped. Honestly, if it weren't such a vivid shade of purple, I doubt I'd have even seen it."

Ozpin hummed in thought. "Could it be separated, say, with the machine you provided us?" The aura transfer device – of course!

"Moved? Yes. But it couldn't separate them. You have to understand, Headmaster – that device was not made for precision. All you'd do is move both souls from one body to another – in theory. Have you tested it, Headmaster?"

"Classified," Ironwood cut in.

"Of course." Doctor Polendina knew only what he needed to know regarding the Maidens. Getting Ozpin to approve that had been a nightmare, but they'd been out of options. "Not to worry. I presume that's why I'm here, no? To separate those souls? I can't make any promises on time, but I believe I can find a solution sooner or later."

/-/

"Wasn't late," Artorias said, kicking off from the wall. He'd forgone the usual jerkin and pauldron in favour of a white shirt and a brown jacket. His cloak was wrapped tighter about his neck than usual, like a scarf. His sword was sheathed on his back, and he still wore his gauntlet, though he stuffed his hand into the pocket of his jacket to somewhat obscure it from view.

"I shouldn't need to congratulate you for meeting expectations," Winter said. She'd kept a similar style to her specialist uniform, but had chosen clothes a little less formal, with a shorter, thicker coat and smaller shoes and a colour pallet of dark blues and greys that didn't draw attention to itself the way a stark white uniform did. She'd also tucked the signature Schnee hair into a beret, though a few strands had escaped. "You're familiar with Hei Xiong, no?"

"More-or-less."

"You take the lead, then. Don't mess up."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," he drawled, crossing the street to the club.

Unlike when he'd come with Yang, the bouncers didn't scramble away, though they did seem to recognise him, speaking fervently into little microphones on their blazers as soon as they'd passed by.

It was a Sunday night, and there weren't a great many customers, though there were still enough for it to feel busy. Winter's eyes were flitting about the room, scanning for potential threats.

Artorias made his way to the bar and sat, waving the bartender away when he asked what he wanted. Junior would be down soon enough, he was sure – or maybe the twin girls who backed up him. Besides, he wasn't going to drink anything served here. Not this time. He wouldn't put it past them to mess with his drink in some way.

"Do you socialise with my sister's team often?" Winter asked.

"Doing some snooping, are you?"

"My sister wouldn't lie to me, but I'm more than aware that my approval means a lot to her. She'd leave things out if it benefited her. And I'd certainly prefer to ask you about it over her team leader."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," Artorias chuckled. "Yeah. I – how did you put it? I 'socialise' with them sometimes. Wei-"

"No names," she hissed, leaning in close. "Not here."

"…right. Your sister gets along well with her team, from what I see. She and her leader are particularly close – doesn't make any sense, sure, but hey, it shouldn't make sense with us either."

"What are you trying to say?"

"That you're a wonderful human being and that I'm grateful you've deigned to spend time with me," Artorias said, not skipping a beat.

"Hmm. Go on."

"What else do you want me to say? Their team is in a good place. Oh, wait – you'll love this. Your sister has taken an 'interest' in a guy."

The edge of the bar cracked where Winter gripped it.

"They've really seemed to hit it off, actually."

"I'm… happy for her. Truly," Winter growled.

Artorias smirked. "I can tell." He took his flask from his pocket and offered it to Winter.

"This isn't a bring-your-own." Junior said, emerging from an employee-only section behind the bar. "I thought it was you, Wolf." His gaze passed from Artorias to Winter. "Who's  _this_  huntress?"

Well, at least he didn't recognise her as an Atlesian Specialist. "You can call me 'sir'," Winter said calmly, taking Artorias' flask and sipping a little before passing it back.

Junior seemed to tense up, but then he let out a long sigh and addressed Artorias again. "You really do keep the worst company."

"I'd disagree," Artorias said, pocketing his flask. "We're here for more information. I'll pay for it, and if you don't fuck with me, you might even get to keep the lien."

"Generous," Junior grunted, crossing his arms. "If this is about Yarrow again, I swear-"

"Oh? Is there something you left out?"

Junior cursed under his breath. "Recent development. Pay up and I'll talk." Artorias slipped some lien across the bar. "A few days ago, I sent some guys over to see if he left anything behind. None of them came back."

"Been a long time since he disappeared. What prompted you?"

"Someone was in here looking for him specifically. He didn't give me a name, and I didn't see his face." Junior shrugged. "Thought it might be worth checking it out."

Artorias fished his scroll from his pocket and brought up the file on the Fume Knight – specifically the reconstruction of his armour. "He didn't look anything like this, did he?"

Junior leaned in closer to look at the scroll. "No," he said. "Not at all. And before you ask – I've not seen anyone like that in my life. Now, if that'll be all-"

"It won't be," Winter interjected. "Have you heard of any shady folk entering Vale since Tuesday?"

"You'd have to narrow that down. There's always an influx for the Vytal Festival, and there are plenty I don't even hear about."

"A male, not much taller than me, probably lugging a big fucking sword behind him," Artorias described. "Had a pretty nice voice, all things considered."

"Haven't heard about any big fucking swords," Junior said. "And haven't heard any particularly impressive voices either."

Artorias nodded. "How about disappearances? Anyone of note gone missing over the past week or so?"

Junior rubbed his fingers together in the universal gesture for money. Artorias obliged. "Obviously there's my guys at Yarrow's, but the White Fang have gone underground since the Breach as well. I guess you knew that, but there's something else – nobody's seen Neopolitan since the Breach either. Now, I know Roman was working with the Fang, but that's a shaky alliance at best. Maybe Neo's hiding with them. Probably not, though. I'd bet my spare kidney she's doing her own thing. Whatever that thing is, she's keeping quiet about it. Quieter than usual, I mean. With a girl like that, no news is never good news."

Well, it wasn't what he was looking for – he'd been hoping to hear that some poor informant had been displaced to make room for the Fume Knight's hideout. But it was still something.

"How many old White Fang hideouts do you know of?" Winter asked.

Junior looked to Artorias, raising an eyebrow. Artorias rolled his eyes, shooting a dirty glance at Winter as he paid Junior.  _Seriously? You're a Schnee! You're rich!_

"I'm no insider," Junior said, grabbing a napkin and starting to scribble down addresses, "but I know a few. Don't expect anything. If  _I_  know them, they're not that secure. Besides – like I said, the Fang are laying low."

"You seem eager to give them up," Artorias observed.

"It may not look like it, but there's some honour amongst thieves, Wolf," Junior said. "But the Fang aren't thieves. They're terrorists. Roman was playing with fire. It sucks just as much for me as it does you if Vale gets overrun by the Grimm. It's bad for business, and also for my health." He passed Winter the napkin. She took a cursory glance at it before folding it up and pocketing it.

Artorias looked to Winter. "We done?"

She nodded. "That'll be all."

"See how productive we can be when we're civil, Junior?" Artorias asked, spreading his arms wide as though to hug the man.

"Order a drink, ask for intel, or get out," Junior growled. "Those are your options."

"We're leaving, we're leaving," Artorias said, backing towards the exit.

"No need to be dramatic," Winter said, grabbing him by his cloak and near-enough hauling him outside.

Once they were well away from the club, and were sure they weren't being followed, they began to talk freely, and about very important matters.

"Weiss' crush," Winter growled. "What's his name?"

Very important matters indeed.

"Neptune Vasilias," Artorias said, throwing the blue-haired boy under the bus. "…we're not going to talk about the info?"

"We didn't get anything of great value," she said, pulling the napkin from her pocket. "We'll check these places over the next few days. I'm busy tonight – I'll see you tomorrow, Artorias," she said, setting off down the street.

"Don't be too hard on him!"

She didn't respond, disappearing around a corner not long afterwards.

/-/

Vengarl pushed himself against the wall. Footsteps echoed through the empty halls – a security guard, nothing more.

_Wait._

Silence. No – listening closer, very faint breathing, the shuffling of feet on polished stone.

_Wait._

More footsteps – this time receding.

Vengarl let his breathing return to normal and slipped around the corner. The painting loomed over him – the Painted World, it was called – but that wasn't his goal. Not tonight. He hugged the wall around to the right, dragging his hand along the polished marble until he felt a little jolt to his aura – something nobody would recognise if they weren't looking for it.

He responded, and a panel in the wall slid down. He stepped through, and it closed behind him.

The museum had once been the palace, after all. And there were some things that those curators would never find on their own.

It was pitch black in the hidden passage. No surprise – it had been two decades since Vengarl had been down here. He doubted anybody else would have. He doubted anyone else  _could_  – Ozpin, for sure, but he had no reason to.

Vengarl fished his scroll from his pocket and turned the light on, illuminating the narrow passageway, then set off. Dust swirled about his feet with every step until he was almost like a ghost, haunting his long-abandoned abode.

The path split many times, but he continued with purpose, knowing exactly where to go. At length, he found himself in the old war room - a circular chamber with walls lined with emerald. Steps descended into the middle of the room, where there sat a stone table, round, covered in cobwebs and dust.

Oz had his Vault beneath Beacon. Vengarl had this place – though it wasn't a place for scheming and plotting and safekeeping. This was but a memory.

He descended the ancient stairs, dust billowing out at every footfall, and came to the table. He breathed, only lightly, but the dust scattered from its surface as though a great gale had passed through the room, revealing an intricate carving upon the table's surface – a carving of great warriors, some in horned helms, with sword and spear, and some with hoods, commanding dust and the forces of nature – all united against a common foe. The creatures of Grimm.

There was one figure who appeared larger than the others: a woman with a tall, jagged crown.

He crossed the room. Against the wall behind the largest seat was a large wooden chest. He picked it up and set it down on the table, right on top of where the crown was, and opened it.

First there was a shield – metal, rectangular, painted black with a raven embossed on its surface. It had belonged to a member of Mistral's kingsguard. How many times had they clashed? A dozen times at the siege of Heide alone, then again at the battle of the Royal Wood, at Halgot bridge, but strangely not at the siege of the Bastille, where the king of Mistral himself had been captured. Vengarl had never learned what had happened to the kingsguard. He was probably long dead.

But that wasn't why he was here.

He set the shield aside.

Then a long blue coat, medals mounted on its breast. The standard Valean military coat of a commander, this one for the blue legion. It had travelled to all corners of Remnant, fended off swords and Grimm claws alike, all in service of Joseph Arc.

Rightfully, it belonged to Jaune now.

But that wasn't why he was here either.

He set the coat aside.

At last – a sword. Its crossguard was bent at a right angle halfway out from the weapon's centre, so as to be parallel with its edge. The leather wrapping was old and worn, but still sturdy. He ran a finger along its edge, confirming that it had gone dull with age. From a pocket, he produced a whetstone, and began to sharpen Lucatiel's sword.

Idly, he wondered if this was how the girl in the painting felt, alone in a dark place with only a sword and memories of the dead for comfort.

"It's been a while," he said. "I've missed you." He liked to imagine that the quiet  _shink_  of the blade on the whetstone was Lucatiel's reply.

"Hmph. That's a sappy way to start," he grumbled. "I'm not good at this. It'd be easier if you could hold up your end of the conversation, you know? You're really letting the team down here."

No response. Typical.

"It's not fair," he said. "I'm an old man. I'm reminded every day that I've grown old and that you haven't. Not like me."

_Shink._

"I still feel like a kid sometimes," he said. "Lost, I mean. I don't know what I want. I don't know what to  _do_ , Lucatiel."

What would she say to that? He didn't know.

Well, he could guess what she'd do, at least. She was fond of the road less travelled, of overcoming her fears, of taking the path of most resistance and triumphing regardless. Perhaps Oz had appealed to that part of her. It had never been clear  _how_  he'd convinced her to enter the painting, only why – because he was afraid.

And now he was presented with the same choice. Not that he was at risk of losing his mind – not like her, at least. But what would he really be facing within the painting?

His hand clenched around the whetstone.

" _The greatest rewards are those you earn for yourself."_

She'd said that to him the day his aura had manifested. Others, the new generation of Hunters, had their own mantras to unlock aura. But in many ways, Vengarl saw Lucatiel as the first Hunter, and that was her mantra, and hers alone. She had never, to his knowledge, unlocked another's aura. Such things had to be earned. Or so she believed.

Why then had she taken that conflict from Oz? She had shouldered his burden and journeyed to the Painted World. Why?

"Why couldn't you have walked away?"

No reply. The sound of the whetstone grinding against the steel offered no comfort.

 _Closure._ Bah. What use was closure? It wouldn't bring him joy, nor satisfaction. He wouldn't pretend he'd moved on long ago – no, he was too self-aware for that – but he saw no point in closure.

No. His mind was made up. He would not go to the Painted World. It didn't matter who the girl was to him, and it didn't matter who he was to the girl. But Oz… he mattered.

It was as though a great weight lifted from his shoulders. A sigh of relief escaped him. A decision had been made – it made all the difference.

"Thank you," he said.

_Shink._

"Jaune's a good kid," he continued. "Joseph's descendant. I think you'd like him. He's got a drive to better himself – not unlike you, I suppose. But gods, he can be a bit dull sometimes."

_Shink._

"He saw the photo of us three. Thought you were his great-great-grandmother, for a second. You and Joseph, huh? How about it?"

Silence.

"Hmm. I thought not."

_I don't want to live. I want to exist._

She'd been so afraid… But she was never afraid. He'd never seen her afraid. Not until then. Maybe she'd always been afraid, but hid it well. She'd hid many things.

"I remember you," he said.

_Shink._

"I looked for you for a while, you know. Even though you told me not to."

Silence.

He sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose – then launched into a story of everything that happened since he'd retired from Beacon.

He spoke of the ancient battlefields he'd returned to in memorial – of skirting the overgrown ruins of Mirrah, of sailing through half-sunken Heide, of walking the plain in Vacuo where worlds had collapsed on each other and ended and began again. He spoke of the missions he'd taken, of lives both saved and lost, of the strange, ancient Grimm he'd seen deep in the wilds and hadn't dared provoke.

And when he was done talking, he placed the sword, now sharp, back in the chest, and put the chest against the wall, and returned to Beacon, Joseph's coat tucked under his arm.


	23. Discretion

_This one. Arrogant. Self-righteous. She started it all. She's the reason I'm here. This was all her idea, her plan. None of us should have listened to her, least of all me. She'll offer you anything except for your freedom. Power, peace, happiness – but will you be happy in here? I thought not. She might even offer you revenge, but you don't need her for that, do you?_

_Maybe she has a way out. I don't know why, but I feel it's something she'd do, something she's done before. Running away. And if anyone would have their own private exit, it'd be her. But I doubt_ he _would have allowed it. Hell, I doubt I…_

 _Forget it, I_  know she _doesn't have a way out. None of us do. Not even poor misguided Filianore._

_It's neither here nor there. Just don't listen to her. It's all to mess with your head._

_I'll go on ahead. Don't falter now. Kill the Warden._

/-/

Artorias walked out of the exam hall yawning, despite having spent the last thirty minutes or so half-asleep at his desk. Was his essay on Beowolf pack behaviour of any meaningful quality? Probably not. Was it still worthy of a pass? Probably.

He was shortly joined by Gilderoy, who looked just as apathetic to his result as Artorias. The wolf snorted to himself. Chances were high that Gil was worrying himself to death in that head of his, but was simply too tired from studying to show it. That he'd studied at all was a good indication he'd do well. He usually did.

"How'd you go?" Gil asked.

"Eh." He knew Gil would understand perfectly well what that meant: he wasn't worried.

A few other students were trickling out, Ruby among them. There was still half an hour until the exam was over, but once they'd turned their papers in they'd been allowed to leave.

"How was the first-year exam?" Artorias asked.

"Oh, we had multiple choice today," Ruby said, "so pretty easy. But Port made the answer 'B' for like five questions in a row. Weiss is probably tearing her hair out over it."

"He's an evil, evil man," Gil muttered.

Sun was the next student to emerge. He spotted them waiting by the door. "Yo," he said, stretching his arms to ease the cramps.

"How'd it go?" Ruby asked.

"Aced it," Sun said, probably with far more confidence than was warranted.

Weiss came out next, looking quietly pleased with herself – an expression that faltered when she saw Artorias.

"Uh oh."

"How do  _you_  know my sister?"

Artorias glanced left and right, checking to see if Goodwitch was watching, then took a quick sip from his flask. "Classified?"

"Hey Weiss!" Ruby said. "How'd you do, Weiss? Are you ready for tomorrow's exam, Weiss?"

"Classified. Really." Weiss sighed, then addressed Ruby. "I'm confident I did well, and I'm confident I'm prepared for tomorrow."

"Neat."

Weiss levelled her glare at Artorias again. "We were on a mission together a few years back. She talked to you after we sparred, yeah?"

"She didn't call it sparring."

"I'm sticking with it."

Ruby cleared her throat. "Well, that's all sorted now, right? We're all still friends?"

"More-or-less," Weiss muttered. Artorias shrugged. Although, speaking of Winter…

"Hey – have you guys followed up on that Yarrow thing at all?"

"We have, actually," Ruby said. "We just found a  _lot_  of blood. Like… horror-movie levels of blood."

Junior's men, maybe? Clearly  _someone_  had found them, if they hadn't come back. "Huh. When was this?"

"A few days," Weiss said.

"Really? You left it that long?" Sun asked.

"We meant to go earlier, but things kept coming up!" Ruby fumed. "I'm serious, it was like – let's go check out Yarrow's place! Oh wait, we have a  _mission._  Let's go check out Yarrow's place! Oh wait, there are  _Grimm in Vale._  It was so annoying."

They chatted idly as more and more students came out. Eventually, once their teams had all gathered – alongside Team Juniper – they departed, all going their separate ways.

/-/

"How were your exams?" Vengarl asked as Teams Ruby and Juniper filed into the training room. There were a myriad of responses – shrugs from Jaune and Yang and Blake, a tentative "Alright," from Ruby and Pyrrha, and a satisfied nod from Weiss.

And, of course, Nora spouting some nonsense about one of the questions. Ren calmed her down quickly enough.

"Jaune, Yang – to the floor. I want to see you spar. Don't pummel him while he's down, Miss Xiao Long – we don't want to waste his aura without him learning."

"What if I knock her down?"

Yang snickered. Vengarl didn't answer and gestured for them to begin.

Yang threw the first punch, as he expected. Jaune had certainly improved in the short time they'd been training together, and held off her first assault well, not merely fending it off but weaving between her strikes. His footwork had always been good, but now he made much better use of it, keeping her at the perfect range to score a few hits in retaliation without putting himself at undue risk.

Vengarl was proud to see what Jaune had learned when he pulled out one of the attacks drilled into him. Ducking beneath Yang's left hook and dancing to her side, he landed two powerful blows before she could recover to face him – and by that point he was already spinning, using every muscle in his body to whip his sheathe into her face.

Yang caught it on the back of her gauntlet, however, and though she stumbled a little from the force she managed to follow up with a low sweep kick, sending Jaune toppling to the floor.

"Good, both of you," Vengarl praised.

"You've gotten better, Vomit-boy," Yang agreed, offering him a hand.

"And I'll never live that name down," he muttered.

The gears in Vengarl's mind turned. He'd seen Jaune successfully stagger Yang. In a contest of strength, Yang would surely take the victory, and even with Jaune throwing his full body weight into the strike, she should have fended it off far better. Maybe he'd caught her by surprise, or maybe there was something off with her technique. "Yang, you stay there. Jaune, come back. Miss Valkyrie?"

"Ooh, do I get to beat her up?"

"Until one of you is knocked down, yes. Yang, I want to see you fighting defensively this time – you knock her down in one punch or not at all."

"Wait, what?"

"I like this rule!" Nora cheered, bouncing her way down to the ring.

"I don't!"

"Good luck." He indicated that they begin.

Yang was more wary this time, letting Nora close the distance between them. Nora brought the hammer crashing down, though it was such a telegraphed attack that Yang dodged with ease. Still, she didn't retaliate. Nora swung in wide, frenzied arcs with far more speed than Vengarl thought such a heavy weapon should ever move. Yang dodged backwards.

Vengarl peered closer. He knew what he wanted to see – he wanted to see Yang  _block._

Nora gave chase, giving Yang no time to breath. Every time the hammer swung, Yang dodged at the last second, waiting for Nora to overbalance herself.

Soon enough, an opportunity came. Even Nora's seemingly boundless energy had a limit, and she stumbled after a particularly wild swing, the hammer dragging her more than she dragged the hammer. Yang capitalized, darting into Nora's guard and bringing a fist cracking into the ginger girl's chin. Her head snapped back and she staggered, but did not fall, raising the hammer over her head to bring down on Yang.

Yang's mouth moved – Vengarl supposed she was swearing – and she crossed her arms over her head, bracing herself for impact. The hammer clanged against her metal gauntlets, but didn't break through her guard, instead sending her sliding backwards across the floor.

Good. It wasn't her technique – she'd let the impact travel right through her, minimizing its effects as much as she could. Jaune had simply caught her by surprise. He'd make her aware that she should never underestimate an opponent, then move on.

"You can let loose now, Yang," he called.

"Nail, meet hammer," Yang said, grinning.

It was over quickly after that. Nora was already starting to wear out from chasing Yang, while the blonde was still relatively fresh.

"Yang, you underestimated Jaune."

"Huh? A bit late on the uptake, gramps."

"I needed to confirm it. Now I have. Never underestimate an opponent – that goes for all of you. Even the Grimm. You'd be surprised how many of them have developed rudimentary intelligence."

Yang shrugged. "Sure." He wasn't sure if the message had quite sunk in – if not, she'd suffer in the tournament, but it would be her own fault and not his.

His advice to Nora would be that she pace herself, but then, he  _had_  imposed rules that forced her to be the more aggressive one in the spar. He'd wait, for now. "Ruby, Ren – it's your turn."

/-/

"You really think he'd hole up in an old White Fang base?"

" _They were working with Torchwick. Clearly the Fang are relaxing their standards on business partners."_

"The Fume Knight isn't just a human, he also controls the  _Grimm._  You know, bone plates, big claws, red eyes?"

" _It's the best lead we have. Unless you know something I don't?"_

"No," Artorias grumbled. "I mean, I guess it makes some sense. Not that we've seen any evidence of the Fang and the Fume Knight working together."

He and Winter had split up, each going to separate locations but communicating via scroll. The warehouse Artorias was searching was just about empty, save for a tin of red paint he'd found in the corner. He'd never really thought about it, but it made sense that they'd need paint. They put their stupid logo on just about everything they owned, after all.

"You found anything?" he asked.

" _Empty,"_ Winter said.  _"There's a few dust crystals scattered around, though – they must have missed some when they left. I'll get them checked for fingerprints."_

"Great. We might catch some low-tier White Fang grunt. That'll  _really_  help."

" _Shut up, Artorias."_

Artorias had briefly considered doing a double-check of Yarrow's house; someone  _must_  have been there recently. But if Team RWBY hadn't found anyone, they were probably long gone anyway.

" _I'm heading to the old Fang safehouse on Pearl street. Are you done there?"_

"Yeah. Empty. Reckon I should take this paint?"

" _What paint?"_

"Red paint. Think I'd like good in red?"

" _That's not how dyeing works, Artorias."_

"I beg to differ." He tapped the tin, letting the clanging noise echo into the scroll's mic. "You just dip clothes in there and they change colour, right?"

" _Fine. Try it. I need a good laugh."_

"I could just tell a joke instead," Artorias offered, leaving the paint behind. "Why did the Schnee cross the road?"

" _I don't know. Get to the next location, Artorias. Auxiliary aircraft hangar 12."_

"Because the road crossed her first."

" _It be funnier if it was someone stereotypically known for backstabbing – a mercenary or an assassin, for example. Or maybe a politician?"_

Artorias set off along the docks, breathing deeply. It was late in the evening, the sun having gone down not long before and the air was cold and fresh and just a little salty from the sea. "Yeah, but then it wouldn't be a Schnee-joke, would it? I'll try again. Knock knock."

There was an audible sigh.  _"Who's there?"_

"Schnee."

" _Schnee who?"_

"Just kidding, I'm the butler."

" _How original. You've never made a butler joke before,"_ Winter drawled, her voice oozing sarcasm.

"Alright, alright – how about this? The only difference between asking a girl out and telling her a joke is that she never laughs at the joke."

There was a moment of silence before Winter snorted.  _"Did Quelana laugh at you?"_

"Actually, she asked me; it was Ciaran who laughed. How's the safehouse?"

" _Not there yet. The hangar?"_

"Just arrived." The main hangar door was open, and he stepped in. It was quite dark inside, but being a faunus he could see well enough. "Huh. No Bullheads."

" _You really think the Fang would have left aircraft behind? They're too valuable."_

"But not something you can easily hide. If they were still in the city, somebody would have heard about it."

" _True. Do you think they've gone outside the walls?"_

"Most likely. It's possible they've moved on from Vale entirely. Wouldn't that be nice?"

" _Doubtful. Look for signs that somebody's living there. How big is it?"_

"Pretty damn big," Artorias said. It was at least big enough for four Bullheads while still leaving space at the back where ground vehicles were parked – forklifts, mostly. Catwalks ran around the edge of the hangar, providing access to doors that lead to smaller side rooms – probably storage, or maybe offices. Shipping containers ringed the walls. Artorias checked the closest one – it was completely empty.

" _Be thorough, then. We don't want to miss anything."_

Artorias was about to get to work when he heard something familiar – humming. A Bullhead's engine.

He poked his head back out the door. There was a Bullhead flying in from the general direction of Patch, and flying  _very_  low.

"Uh, Winter?"

" _What?"_

"There's a Bullhead incoming."

" _Are you sure it's not approved traffic?"_

"I think it's flying too low," he said. "I'll see where it lands."

He observed it for a while. The pilot obviously wasn't too experienced – the sound of the engines wasn't nearly as smooth as what Artorias was used to, but it remained steady on its course. Just before it flew overhead, however, the engines screamed as the Bullhead was brought to a halt.

Then it began to lose altitude.

"Shit," Artorias swore. "It's going to land here!"

" _Mute your scroll and hide,"_ Winter ordered.  _"Keep watch, of course."_

Artorias did so, dashing deeper into the hangar and taking refuge behind one of the shipping containers. The Bullhead's landing was not smooth in the slightest, shuddering and scraping along the hangar floor as it was set down. Artorias narrowed his eyes, peering at the cockpit, but he couldn't see much beyond vague movements through the tinted glass.

Only one passenger emerged, wearing the helmet of a pilot – and that too was soon removed, though they were looking the other way and Artorias couldn't see his face. He was, however, bald. Artorias could tell that much.

"One pilot, no passengers," he whispered, knowing Winter could hear him even if he couldn't hear her. "I can't see any cargo." The pilot threw his helmet back into the Bullhead, then closed the side-door and made his way towards the hangar's exit. "Wait with the Bullhead, or follow the pilot?"

His scroll buzzed lightly. Winter had sent him a message.  _Bullhead._

Artorias waited five minutes before making his move, just in case the pilot returned. He unmuted his scroll again as he ran over to the Bullhead.

"I can hear you again," he said.

" _As long as nobody else can, fine by me,"_ she said.  _"Were there any passengers?"_

"Just the pilot. He's bald, thin, not very tall. I didn't see his face." He reached the Bullhead and punched in a random code to the keypad controlling the boarding ramp. Predictably, it didn't work. "Most people don't change the factory default password, right?"

" _For the Bullheads?"_

"Yeah. Do you know what it is?"

" _It depends where it was manufactured. Try 3411."_

He tried it. "Didn't work."

" _6969."_

"You're kidding me."

" _You'd be surprised how immature the people who make these things are."_

Artorias rolled his eyes and tried the code. His eyebrows shot right up into his hairline when the door opened and the boarding ramp began to extend.

" _That sounds promising."_

"I won't ever question you again," Artorias murmured.

" _I wish I could believe that. What's the cargo?"_

Artorias walked up the ramp and glanced around. There was… nothing. Well – there were seats and handles for passengers, the door leading to the cockpit, the first-aid kit hanging from the wall, but no cargo. "Empty."

Winter cursed under her breath.  _"I should have sent you after the pilot."_

"Hey, it's my fault too. Where are you?"

" _Still checking the safehouse – it's empty so far, by the way. Are there any security cameras in the hangar?"_

"I didn't see any."

" _Of course – the White Fang would have made sure of that. When we get back to Beacon, I'll requisition cameras so we can bug this place."_

Artorias let out a long sigh. "At least it's something."

" _At least it's something,"_ Winter agreed.  _"We'll check the last two places tomorrow night. Do a lap of the docks– you might still have time to catch the pilot, if he's on foot. If you can't find him, meet up with me and we'll head back to Beacon."_

/-/

Vengarl laced the fingers of one hand with the other behind his back, looked up at the painting, and waited.

He'd sent Oz the message to meet him here: "Surveying exquisite art." He assumed Oz would know what it meant. What else could it mean, after all? He was hardly a collector of such things, and there was only one piece of art that both he and Oz shared an interest in. Not that it was for the  _sake_  of art. Oh no. Certainly not.

It had been a simple matter to convince the security officers to turn the other cheek to his presence. All he'd had to do was drop his name and his titles and just a hint of his history, and once they'd confirmed his identity they'd respectfully left him alone. This exhibit was to commemorate the Great War, after all, and he may very well have been  _the_  last surviving veteran of said war. And besides – it was hardly like he was hiding the existence of a hidden passage this time. It wouldn't hurt to let them know he was there.

His gaze wandered back to the painting. He'd not spent much time looking at it as a piece of art – not the previous night, and certainly not in his expedition to the vaults beneath Mantle, long ago. But whenever he saw it, he felt strangely comforted, as though a presence was watching over him. Maybe the girl within could see out. He didn't know.

Footsteps echoed behind him, but not accompanied by the familiar tap of a cane. A guard, most likely. He grimaced. He'd been clear that he was to be left alone.

"Sir Vengarl Sand," said a man's voice. "The last knight of Vale. You're a hard man to find."

Not a guard, then. Vengarl turned to see a tall man with a hooked nose and pale purple eyes. "It's not a title I care for," he said gruffly.

"My apologies, then," said the man. "What should I call you?"

"Vengarl will do," Vengarl said. "And you are…"

"Sulyvahn. Councilman Sulyvahn." He offered a hand; Vengarl shook it. "And it's through my influence that this wonderful painting was shown once more to the world."

Vengarl's eyes narrowed. "A painting that belongs to the Academy, not to the Kingdom. Forgive my suspicion, but…"

"James was more than happy to humour me," Sulyvahn said. "I believe that works of great beauty such as these should be shared, not left in a basement to rot away. And what a beauty it is, no?"

"I'm not much of an artist."

"True genius can be appreciated by high-brow and low-brow alike. If you observe closely, you'll realise that the artist has only truly depicted one or two trees – the rest are merely implied in the shapes and the colours. Look at the strong lines of the bridge against the frosty backdrop. It stands out, does it not? Your eyes are drawn to it, and from there upwards to the chapel. You climb the mountain as though you are physically there."

Vengarl supposed he was right, though, knowing the truth of the Painted World, he knew that to enter was to physically climb the mountain as Sulyvahn suggested. "I suppose I see what you mean," Vengarl said, hedging his bets. It wouldn't do to accuse a councilman of hunting for an all-powerful relic left by the literal gods unless he was absolutely certain he was right.

Sulyvahn sighed. "I didn't come here just to discuss art, of course. I wanted to talk with you about history."

Vengarl frowned. "I don't appreciate being followed."

"Noted. I'll find another way to reach you, if I need to." Vengarl grimaced – he was just another upper-class bastard who thought they owned everyone else's time. "You were part of the Blue Legion, no? You were present at the battle of Vacuo?"

"I was."

"Would you mind recounting your experience for me?"

The battle of Vacuo. The final battle of the Great War.

No two people's memory of the battle was quite alike: the Relic of Knowledge had seen to that, warping the soldiers' memories of the battle to fit with what they knew of the world. Some days, even Vengarl wasn't sure if his memory was accurate.

But what he remembered was… fantastic. Majestic. Ridiculous, in some circles.

He could remember the ash and the smoke seeping into his lungs, the cries of dying soldiers echoing across the battlefield. He could remember the snarls of Grimm encroaching upon the Valean encampment. He could remember Joseph's roaring commands to flank, to fend off the Grimm, to charge at Mantle's fresh-faced recruits and cut them down to bleed a hole for the Valean armies.

And he could remember a city, collapsing into the sand and the blood, disappearing as quickly as it had come.

"We fought," Vengarl hedged, "and we won. What more is there to it?"

"Accounts differ," Sulyvahn said. "You may be the only remaining primary source on the topic."

Vengarl was quiet for some time. The battle played out in his head. Everything from the sand that had crusted on his boots to the blood that had dried on his sword. Everything from the smoke that had stung his eyes to the ash that had filled his lungs. Everything from the wonder upon seeing the city manifest before him to the dread of…  _her._

"I'd rather not talk about it, if it's all the same to you," he said.

Sulyvahn seemed disappointed, yet respectful towards his wishes. "War is war. I understand."

"I don't think you do," Vengarl frowned. "Have you ever watched a man scoop up his own entrails because it's all his pain-addled mind could think to do?"

"I can't say I have."

"Have you ever seen a woman shut down so completely from grief that she could be mistaken for the dead?"

"I have not."

"Have you ever prayed that the Grimm would come for you so you wouldn't have to take another human life?"

Sulyvahn was silent, though he seemed thoughtful rather than unsettled, his strange eyes fixed firmly on Vengarl's own.

"War is war, Councilman Sulyvahn, and war is all these things and more. Atlas is the greatest threat to peace in the modern world, and I'll be damned if I don't educate her councilmen on the horrors of battle."

"Meaning no disrespect, Vengarl," Sulyvahn said, "but you're wrong. The Grimm are a far greater threat."

"They are a threat the way an earthquake is a threat: unstoppable, but limited in what it can achieve. A beast without a brain."

Footsteps could be heard approaching, this time joined by the tapping of a cane. Oz was here. Sulyvahn addressed Vengarl. "If that's what you believe, so be it. Peace be with you." He bowed his head slightly in respect, then departed.

"What strange company you keep," Oz murmured, watching as Sulyvahn left.

/-/

Emerald suppressed a strangled sigh. The Headmaster had as good as snuck up on her, hiding in the corner, and she'd had to duck behind a display case to avoid being seen. But it had left her open to be seen by somebody coming from the other direction, as Sulyvahn was doing now – and she didn't have time to move.

She reached out with her semblance. What should he see? Marble walls reflecting the dull amount of light left by the dust-powered lights, pillars casting faint shadows, display cases full of ancient artifacts – but most importantly, he shouldn't see her.

Every mind felt a little different. It was the slight brush of her mind against theirs that left the headaches and the migraines – some were not too unlike her own, and so had less severe consequences, but even then, it was always clear to her that she was invading something foreign, something that she had no right to.

Sulyvahn's felt…

It felt  _empty._

A lance of pain shot through her skull. She gritted her teeth, biting down on the grunt that almost escaped her, and held the image in his mind.

More pain. It was as though a wasp had entered her head, creating an incessant, painfully loud buzzing. And when it stung – oh, how it stung. Her hand gripped tightly on the edge of the display case, supporting her lest she fall.

She was vaguely aware that Sulyvahn looked her way, but she felt so close to blacking out that maybe, just maybe, she was imagining it. Nevertheless, she pushed on. She couldn't let him see her. Cinder had said as much – Sulyvahn was not to know.

The pain receded as soon as Sulyvahn turned the corner, an act that must have taken only a few seconds but which felt like an age. She staggered to her feet, realising that at some point she'd fallen. A quick glance back to the main foyer told her that neither the headmaster nor the old man had heard her – good. She took a quick second to breath until she felt normal again, then followed Sulyvahn, keeping low and quiet so as not to alert the people standing before the painting.

She rounded the corner, and Sulyvahn was standing there, looking right at her, a finger raised to his lips. She stopped as though caught with her hand in a cookie jar, which in a way she was. That it was her first choice of simile also indicated that she was spending  _way_  too much time with Ruby, and wasn't it good that Mercury was taking that job?

Although now, she rather envied the simplicity of it. She'd just been caught, after all.

"What were you doing?" Sulyvahn asked. He kept his voice low so as to not alert Ozpin or Vengarl, but aside from that he seemed to be making nothing more than idle conversation.

Emerald didn't let her guard down.

"I asked what you were doing," Sulyvahn repeated. "What did you do to me?"

"…I was lost." He wouldn't buy it for a second, of course.

"I'm sure." He frowned. "You tried to do something to me."

"Oh – sorry if I was eavesdropping, I just wanted to ask for directions back to Beacon."

"I'm not in the mood for jokes." Sulyvahn said. He drew himself to his full height, looming over her like a menacing cathedral. "Your semblance. You will tell me what it is." He took a step closer. Emerald shuffled away.

"I just have a  _really_  bad sense of direction. That's my semblance," she quipped.

Sulyvahn darted forwards before she could react. His right hand clamped down on her shoulder, the other on her mouth. Once it was clear she wasn't going to scream, he uncovered her mouth. "The truth, Miss Sustrai."

She jerked her shoulder, trying to break free, but his grip was like iron, so firm that a little aura sparked from the struggle.

"You may find this hard to believe, but I'm not your enemy."

She rolled her eyes. "Controlled hallucinations," she said. "Happy?"

He released her and adjusted the cuff of his sleeve – it had wrinkled slightly in the muted struggle. "Rather unusual," he said. "But you seemed to trust in it enough. You may go. Tell your master to meet with me at her earliest convenience."

Emerald eyed him warily. "What will you do?"

"I thought a spy was meant to be subtle," he scoffed. "I suppose you'd continue to follow me anyway. I certainly would, were I in your position. I don't blame you." He stepped past her towards the entrance to the foyer, where Ozpin had gone. Now his steps were light, near-silent. "Use your semblance. Hide my approach. I wish to listen in."

"I can't – it's hard with two people."

"But possible, no?"

She grimaced and nodded.

Something about his smile unsettled her as he walked back towards her. She wanted to turn and run, but the only thing she could think to fear more in that moment than his grin was the consequence of turning her back on him.

He cupped her chin with one hand and forcefully raised her eyes towards him. "If you can, you will," he said, and Emerald found that she couldn't disagree, not with his hand so close to her neck. Necks were fragile. Necks could break.

That was what his smile was telling her. That her life meant little to him.

"I'll do it," she muttered.

/-/

"What strange company you keep," Oz murmured.

"Not by choice," Vengarl responded. "He approached me."

Oz hummed, absentmindedly tapping the index finger of his right hand against the pearl set in his cane. "No matter, then." He let out a long sigh, looking up towards the painting. "Did I ever tell you why the Painted World exists?"

"No," Vengarl said. "You always seemed to skirt around that topic."

"I'm sure I did. It was a prototype, I suppose you could say. But it lasted longer than its successor ever did." He sipped at his coffee – of course he'd brought coffee, Vengarl thought. Why wouldn't he?

"Hmm?"

"The Ringed City." Oz said. "Paradise. It was certainly  _meant_  to be paradise, at least. But circumstances change." Oz frowned. "But that doesn't quite do it justice. The Painted World was a gift to Priscilla."

Vengarl drew a sharp breath. Priscilla – the girl Lucatiel had addressed in her letters. The girl in the painting. "From who?"

"From whom," Oz corrected. "From all of us, I suppose. We all doted on her. She was… innocent. The only innocent, perhaps. Well, aside from…" he trailed off, but Vengarl didn't want to push him to continue. "Nevermind," Oz said. "She's not caught up on recent events, not for a millennia, at least, so don't be too harsh on her." He produced the little doll from his pocket and offered it to Vengarl.

"I don't think you understand," Vengarl said. "I don't want to see the Painted World. I want  _you_  to do what you could not eighty-odd years ago."

Oz kept his face neutral, but his silence alone was enough to tell Vengarl that internally the headmaster was screaming in protest.

"I will stay at Beacon for as long as you need me, if only you face Priscilla," Vengarl said.

"You don't understand," Oz protested. "Priscilla… she and I have our differences. Especially after..."

"After what?"

"You  _couldn't_  understand," Oz said. "Know only that there's a very good reason why I don't want to face her."

"And there are very good reasons why you should. You owe it to Lucatiel."

Oz flinched.

"Look to the future," Vengarl said. "You say you want me on your side. Show me."

Oz cleared his throat. "Very well," he said. "Still, take this." He pressed the doll into Vengarl's hands. "Return it to my office. It's not something I'd want to take with me if I didn't have to."

Vengarl nodded, took the doll, and pocketed it. Oz squared his shoulders. "It's been a long time."

Vengarl kept his silence, letting the older man speak. Despite his best attempts, Oz suddenly seemed ancient, weighed down with the wisdom of countless years. "Maybe she'll forgive me."

"I don't know everything that happened between you," Vengarl said, "but I think she would."

Oz snorted. "But that's the problem. You don't know everything." With that, he drained his coffee mug, then held his right hand to the painting. It shimmered and swirled like a whirlpool where he touched it, drawing him in, then with a flash of light, Oz disappeared.

**Author's Note:**

> A story I started on FFN a little over a month back. I'll still be uploading there first, but I thought I might be able to shamelessly beg for approval here, too.
> 
> This is a RWBY/Dark Souls crossover-ish fic but not really. I say not really because there is no universe-hopping, and there never will be. Everything is set in Remnant. The characters I'm throwing into the mix are based off of bosses and NPCs from Dark Souls, but they are not those characters, and, hopefully, you won't need to know much about Dark Souls to understand this fic (although you might be in a better situation to predict characters' actions if you're familiar).
> 
> That being said: for those of you who do know the Dark Souls lore, remember that a lot of it is open to interpretation (and I've chosen characters to focus on who I can interpret very liberally), but I will occasionally write something that goes completely against the established lore if it gets a better story (or what I consider better, at least).
> 
> Disclaimer (and consider this to count for the whole fic): I don't own RWBY, I don't own Dark Souls.


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